


Soap, and the Scents of Home

by round_robin



Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bath Houses, Bathing/Washing, Beards (Facial Hair), Canon-typical bathing, Come Eating, Domestic Fluff, Dry Humping, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Labor, Emotional Sex, Emotional Slow Burn, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Facials, Hot Springs & Onsen, Kaer Morhen, Kaer Morhen's Fanon Hot Springs (The Witcher), M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Romantic Jaskier | Dandelion, Scent Kink, Scenting, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Build, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Thirsty For Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Voyeurism, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: “Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt mumbled against Jaskier's neck. “Next winter, come with me.” He sat up, hoping Jaskier might see the earnest request in his eyes.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: An Exaltation of Wolves [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687699
Comments: 603
Kudos: 3029
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this a few weeks ago, and I definitely did not expect to post a fic about bathing and washing during the Great Plague of 2020. Wash your hands, folks!
> 
> This whole idea began when I remembered Geralt has a beard in the Witcher 3 (I haven't played it yet, it's on my wish list). My husband uses beard oil on his beard... you can see how these things fall together. The plot kind of hit me at the end of this first chapter, so let's hope everyone enjoys where this ends up. More tags will come as I post the next chapters.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, let me know if you find one and it'll be seen to.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'm back on tumblr now as round--robin
> 
> UPDATE: okay, considering the fandom fucking ran away with the hot springs (which pleases me to no end, seriously, I'm blown away) I just want to let any new readers know, yes this is it, this is the hot spring fic where it all started. Come play in the water with me and please enjoy <3

* * *

The sound Jaskier made was not audible, but he did indeed make a sound, for several dogs scattered around the streets yelped.

He ran across the town square, arms outstretched, fingers poised to grab and stroke. Geralt stopped him with one strong hand on his shoulder, holding Jaskier at arm's length. He glared around the square, trying to see how much attention Jaskier had drawn with his lack of control. “Not here,” Geralt hissed under his breath.

But Jaskier wasn't listening. “Your _beard_!” He touched Geralt's arm to have something to hold on to, his fingers still twitching and flexing, desperate to feel. While Jaskier wasn't as discrete about their... relations as Geralt liked, he did know not to shout about it in the middle of some random town. At least, Geralt thought he did up until this moment.

They weren't even supposed to meet here, this was just happenstance. Geralt was headed towards the Pontar, where he'd hopefully pick up a contract or two before meeting Jaskier in a few weeks outside Oxenfurt. Why Jaskier made his way this far East without Geralt was a mystery.

“Why? Why have you kept this from me?” Jaskier babbled, his eyes roving over Geralt's face, mouth slightly open, like a child viewing the face of a saint in church for the first time. “It's beautiful, and you look divine—so virile and masculine—”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Yes, much different than I normally am. Do you have a room somewhere? I don't like standing in the open when you're trying to paw me.”

Realization dawned across Jaskier's face and he released Geralt's arm, stepping away, but his fingers continued to rub together, needing something to occupy them. “Sorry, I got over excited. Yes, I have a room.” He moved towards a large inn across the street and Geralt followed.

Now that they were a socially acceptable distance away from each other, Jaskier started babbling again. “Why haven't you grown a beard before? I've seen you with stubble, of course, but a beard! That needs proper care, and I definitely don't have the right oils with me. Maybe I can find an apothecary with grape seed oil, it'll do in a pinch. Or do you have grape seed oil? I never know what goes into your concoctions. Geralt? Are you listening? Geralt?”

“No,” Geralt grunted back and turned towards the stables to take care of Roach.

When she was all settled, her tack removed, her coat brushed down, water and oats full, Geralt headed back into the inn and found Jaskier waiting at the bottom of the stairs, key in hand. “I ordered you a bath,” he said, bouncing on his toes from excitement. “I don't have good beard oil, but I have other oils that will do for now. Come on.”

Geralt followed Jaskier up to the room, and as soon as the door closed, he pushed the bard against it, shoving his face into that soft, fragrant neck. “Do you have the right oil for fucking? That's all I care about right now.”

Jaskier let Geralt nuzzle and kiss and sniff (always smelling him, where he'd been, how he felt at any given moment... it would be odd if it wasn't so endearing) and wrapped his hands around his back, pulling them closer. It was a bit of a trick, as Geralt still had his armor on, complete with swords strapped to his back. “Yes, yes, of course I have that. But your _beard_.” He pushed Geralt away a little and stroked his fingers through the coarse white hair at Geralt's cheeks, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Why, why have I never seen you like this? It's absolutely gorgeous. Please, let me help you take care of it? I can already feel dry skin underneath the hair, so you're clearly not doing it properly.”

A firm knock on the door shut Jaskier up for the moment. They sprang apart and allowed the innkeeper's daughters to bring in the bath. When they were alone again, Jaskier attached himself to Geralt's side like they were magnetized. Normally, he wouldn't care, but the bard clinging to him made it difficult for Geralt to remove his armor.

Jaskier batted his hands away and took over the task, chatting at him the whole time. Only, it seemed he wanted answers now. Normally, Jaskier talked to fill the silence, and didn't expect Geralt to maintain his side of the conversation, but these questions were different. “How long have you had it? When did you start growing it, tell me that, I can get a better idea of how much moisture your skin needs because you probably haven't taken proper care at all. I know you're sensitive to smells, are you fine with grape seed oil? I can try to cover the smell with something else you like as soon as I get to a proper apothecary.”

Geralt lowered himself into the steaming bath with a grateful moan, allowing the hot water to relax his winter-chilled muscles. Sometimes, after a trip down the mountain, he felt like the cold pierced him so deeply, it welded all his muscles in place and they'd only move again once the full spring arrived.

Happy and warm in his bath, Geralt started answering Jaskier's questions. “I started growing it at the beginning of winter. Kaer Morhen is fucking cold, the extra hair helps.” He peered at Jaskier out of one eye and saw him working up a lather with the soap Geralt liked, then closed his eyes again and relaxed back into the bath, content to let Jaskier pamper him how the bard saw fit. “Usually I shave it off again before we meet up. I didn't expect to see you this close to the valley.”

Strong, lightly calloused hands settled on Geralt's shoulders, beginning to work away some of the tension he carried. “I had an invite for an end of winter festival. Didn't know our paths would cross so soon.

“All winter?” Jaskier went back to obsessing over Geralt's beard. “And up in those mountains, the dry air probably murders your skin.” He pulled his hands out of the bath and Geralt tried not to groan in protest. Jaskier riffled through his bag until he found a small bottle of oil. “This should do for tonight. Tomorrow, I will find an apothecary with grape seed oil, so help me.”

But he didn't use the oil yet. First, he urged Geralt to shove forward into the bath, then grabbed a bucket to wet his hair. “If you lean back while I wash your hair, you'll get me all wet,” Jaskier said.

Geralt smirked. “Good. You look good wet.”

A smile tugged at Jaskier's lips. “Not just yet. I have a lot of work to do on you.”

Once his hair was washed, Jaskier sprinkled more salts and added a few drops of oil to the water before bringing out the _other_ oil somewhat fit for Geralt's beard. Jaskier placed himself on a stool just behind the tub, knees spread with a towel covering his lap. “Lean back,” he commanded, fingers on both hands liberally coated. Geralt did as asked, leaning his head onto Jaskier's lap.

Jaskier used both hands to work the oil into Geralt's beard, pushing it close to his skin so the follicle soaked it in. He'd continue to put up a fight about it, but Geralt had to admit, it was... nice. Soothing. Different that the way Jaskier normally bathed him, where he focused on scouring every inch of Geralt's skin for dirt, blood, or viscera before they got to the fun of fucking, Geralt's hair still dripping as he pounded into Jaskier.

This time, Jaskier's strong fingers gently worked the oil into Geralt's beard until the hair was soft and pliant. Geralt felt himself growing soft and pliant under the attention, especially when Jaskier brushed against his neck or adam's apple. Jaskier was so focused on his task, he didn't even notice Geralt's cock starting to fill out, or when he slipped one hand under the water to gently stroke.

“Why do you like the beard so much?” Geralt asked. “I grow it for warmth in the winter, that's all.”

“Oh,” Jaskier let out a sigh dripping with so much pleasure, Geralt tasted it on the air. “I've always liked facial hair on a man, it lends a sense of gravitas and experience when well groomed.” Fingers twitched against Geralt's skin and a new smell entered the air. He sniffed and smirked as Jaskier's arousal started to build. “But you... fuck, Geralt, you already look like a feral fucking mountain man with stubble. Coming down from Kaer Morhen with a beard?” Jaskier shivered and a tent started to rise in the towel covering his lap, nudging Geralt in the back of the head. “It's like the warrior god of Witchers coming to fuck me.”

“Mmm.” Geralt's hand under the water sped up. “What else do you like about it?”

“Well, for starters you look so gruff and—hang on.” Jaskier cut himself off and the fingers massaging Geralt's temples and jaw stopped moving. “Are you wanking off in the bath?”

Geralt shrugged a lazy shoulder, stroking at the same pace. “You seem to be enjoying yourself up there, no reason I can't enjoy myself down here.”

“There most certainly is,” Jaskier sputtered. “If anyone's going to touch your cock, it'll be me.”

“Well yours is poking me in the head.” Geralt leaned back a little to drive his point home and Jaskier flinched. “Is a little bit of tamed facial hair really that arousing for you? I would've left the beard years ago.”

For a moment, Jaskier said nothing. His eyes darted from Geralt's beard, to the hand wrapped around his cock, continuing to pull and play and do all the things Jaskier desperately wanted to do to Geralt. “Can I come in your beard before I suck you off?”

“I'll need another bath.”

“I'll wash you again.”

“Done.” Geralt released his cock and climbed out of the bath, grabbing Jaskier and crushing their lips together.

He let Jaskier give him the shortest wipe down before pulling the man onto the bed, unbuttoning and unlacing as they went. When Jaskier was naked and glorious skin pressed against skin, they both groaned. Jaskier tangled his fingers in Geralt's beard, pulling their lips together with more force than usual. Geralt let him touch and feel to his heart's content, happy to finally have Jaskier back after a long winter apart.

They didn't always travel together, but Geralt did like to spend at least one season a year with Jaskier by his side. He pretended the bard annoyed him, claimed to dislike his singing, and generally complained about Jaskier's more delicate sensibilities. But truth be told, Jaskier wasn't just a warm body in bed, he was a companion, he bandaged Geralt's wounds and bathed him with great warmth, tending to him far more than Geralt expected of a simple friend. A Witcher's life held so few pleasures, Geralt was happy to find all his pleasures contained in one man.

Once Jaskier kissed his fill and had enough of rubbing his fingers through Geralt's beard—for surely, he'd do more of that at the most inopportune times—he sat up on his knees and started stroking his cock. Geralt had never had anyone deliberately come on his face and sat back with one arm pillowed under his head to watch Jaskier's, uh, _technique_.

A thin sheen of sweat started to rise over Jaskier's skin and he stopped for a moment, rearranging himself so he was straddling Geralt's shoulders. Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier's lovely ass and squeezed, making him moan as he started on his cock again, the strokes coming faster and more irregular.

Geralt had never watched Jaskier's pleasure from this angle and he couldn't for the life of him imagine why it hadn't occurred to him. Jaskier's cock hung over his face, looking larger than life, a little too far from his lips, but his heavy sac was right there, begging Geralt to taste...

He licked along the seam of Jaskier's sac and smacked his ass, pulling an undignified squeak from Jaskier and his orgasm. It took him by surprise and the first shot landed on the bed next to Geralt's head before he had the wherewithal to lean forward, pressing his cock onto Geralt's cheek. Geralt turned his head to give Jaskier a larger surface and was rewarded with a delicious moan as the next two streaks landed in his beard and across his lips. Waiting until Jaskier was finished, Geralt licked the come off his lips and made Jaskier moan again, wringing one last weak pulse from him.

Jaskier collapsed onto the bed next to Geralt, his chest heaving. “Give me... give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.” Geralt was too busy rubbing a hand through his beard, gathering all of Jaskier's spend he could find and licking it off his fingers, making the loudest, wettest sounds possible.

“Ugh, are you trying to kill me?” His cock gave a valiant twitch. Maybe later...

After a moment, Jaskier seemed to come back to himself. “Alright, I'm ready.” He crawled down the bed and nuzzled Geralt's cock, blowing whispers of warm breath across the head. “Have you missed me?”

Jaskier did this some times, and Geralt was never sure if he was talking to him, or his cock. He answered anyways. “Very much. Kaer Morhen is too cold. Never used to be.” He ran a hand through Jaskier's hair just as that hot mouth settled over him. “You've made me soft.” It wasn't an accusation, or a curse, just a simple truth. Jaskier made Geralt appreciate the warm body in his bed for more than sex, he liked the company and the companionship. Many times in his long life, he'd been told this wasn't for him, The Path was the only company for a Witcher and he shouldn't expect anything else. And yet, here stood Jaskier, so much more than Geralt ever thought to hope for. He leaned back and luxuriated in the feel of Jaskier's soft lips wrapped around his cock, and the warm tongue trying to drive him insane.

Jaskier always put in his best performance for Geralt and wasted no time making the Witcher moan. His hips bucked and hands clenched at the threadbare sheets before he came with a choked off moan. Jaskier swallowed down all Geralt gave him—which was always far too much, excessive, really—and licked the rest away as it dripped down Geralt's shaft.

Jaskier sat up, rubbing his red lips and Geralt groaned again. “You're too good, especially after the long winter.” He opened his arms and Jaskier curled up in them, listening to the slow heartbeat he missed all winter.

“Why do you like my beard so much?” Geralt said after a long silence.

Jaskier shrugged. “It's not that I'm particularly attracted to them—not more than any other feature. It's new. You look different. I like changing things up from time to time.” Pause. “Do you not want me to make you a good beard oil?” Was Jaskier's attention finally too much? Had he found the point where Geralt couldn't tolerate his fussing? Did Jaskier just wear out his welcome?

Geralt thought for a moment. “I'll keep it until summer, it'll be too hot after that. You have until then to play with it.”

Jaskier sighed, relief filling his chest. “I can live with that.”

~

As soon as Jaskier got his hands on some grape seed oil, he went mad creating new oils and soaps for Geralt—and his beard. “Grape seed oil mimics the oils on your skin,” he explained while he stirred some fragrant concoction for Geralt to try. It didn't smell bad, he was just getting tired of Jaskier thrusting samples under his nose to test his tolerance for the new scent. “Which makes it better for the hair, keeping it smooth and soft. There are others I can get, this works for now. Smell.”

Geralt sniffed at the bowl. “It's fine.” Jaskier scowled and continued his work. “How do you know all this? Do they teach barbers at Oxenfurt?” Geralt chuckled at his joke but Jaskier's scowl deepened.

“No, they do not,” he grumbled. “But there is a natural hot spring near Oxenfurt, with a lovely bath house.” As he ground the ingredients in his hands, Jaskier's eyes went soft, traveling far away for a moment. “A master soap maker ran the bath house. She said her family had made soap for generations and she enjoyed passing on the knowledge to students from the school, but after we...” a blush stole across Jaskier's cheeks, “she and I grew very _close_ , and she told me the real story. She worked in a brothel most of her life and learned how to make soaps, oils and balms from the other madams. Once she knew enough, she struck out on her own and rebuilt a decrepit old bath house, turned it into a prospering business.”

He shook himself out of the memory and Geralt made a mental note to ask for the full story another time. Jaskier wasn't reluctant about much, he'd told Geralt many stories of dangerous and exciting sex, and fleeing from castle guards, yet this woman made him delicate with his words? That was surely a tale Geralt wanted to hear.

“She taught me a great deal about making soaps and oils. I could have a thriving trade in it, if I do say so myself, if the adventuring life wasn't more fun.”

Geralt snorted. “You mean my life of adventure?”

“Well, I'm there with you.” Jaskier busied himself with his ingredients and Geralt saw the blush returning.

He laughed again. “Oh that's a laugh, Jaskier, slayer of monsters.”

Jaskier peered up through dark lashes and Geralt's breath caught. He knew exactly when to use those brilliant blue eyes to his advantage... “I slayed you, didn't I?”

A small smile pulled at Geralt's lips and he reached out to stroke Jaskier's shoulder. “Yes, you did.”

A few minutes passed in silence, Jaskier perched on a chair, pulling ingredients out of his bag, and Geralt lounging on the bed like an over large cat, just close enough to touch Jaskier when it pleased him. They spent most of their nights like this, between bouts of athletic sex and calming baths, they simply basked in each other's presence. Geralt didn't know when Jaskier discovered he didn't need to fill every waking moment with noise and chatter, that the simple presence of them together was more than enough, but he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the companionable silence that made their travels together so much deeper than what they were when they first started off.

“Done!” Jaskier announced loudly, breaking through the happy silence.

Instead of pushing the finished oil under Geralt's nose, he poured it into a small vial, then dripped a few drops onto his fingers. “Sit up.” Geralt did as asked, offering his face for Jaskier to poke and massage with his new experiment.

The light fragrance of the oil touched Geralt's nose before Jaskier touched his beard. He smelled the grape seed oil, but it was subtle, masked by a few gentle earthy scents. Geralt took a deep breath and caught a bit of pine and cedar, both so soft and understated, he'd bet money a human wouldn't notice. It smelled so good.

He took a deeper breath and sighed as Jaskier's fingers carded through his beard, coating the hair with the oil, softening the follicles and healing his dry winter skin. “What do you think?” Jaskier asked, a little pause in his voice.

Geralt opened his eyes and brought his hands up to hold Jaskier's, not to stop his movements, but to spur them on. The light, pleasing scent combined with the soft touches were amazing, and Geralt never wanted it to stop. “Why don't you have a trade in this?” he finally said. “You could make so much more than your singing brings.”

Jaskier tried to look offended for about half a second before a smile broke across his face. “Does that mean you like it?”

“Yes.” Geralt _loved_ it, but it wouldn't do to let Jaskier get too big of a head.

He let Jaskier rub the oil over every hair he had before pulling the man into his lap and kissing him senseless. The pine and cedar mixed with the bard's usual lavender, and the linseed oil Jaskier used on his lute, to create a heady combination that smelled of the high mountains and the bard wonderfully intertwined. Geralt closed his eyes and pressed his tongue passed Jaskier's lips, visions of Jaskier in the snow in front of the ancient keep at Kaer Morhen filled his mind. Jaskier spread across the bear skin rug in the dining hall, Jaskier in Geralt's bed...

He moaned into the kiss and Jaskier almost swooned onto the bed. Geralt caught him, lowering them both down. He pressed kisses over Jaskier's jaw and neck, allowing the human a moment to breathe. “Wow,” Jaskier panted. “If I knew you liked a good scent that much, I would have made you more soap ages ago.”

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt mumbled against Jaskier's neck. “Next winter, come with me.” He sat up, hoping Jaskier might see the earnest request in his eyes.

Jaskier's mouth opened and closed a few times. “Are you serious? Would I be... welcome?”

“Of course. If you are invited, you are welcome.”

“I wouldn't be intruding?” Jaskier had no clue what happened at Kaer Morhen during the winters. He imagined a lot of meditating, combat training and drinking. Wouldn't the other Witchers notice he couldn't do two of those things with them?

Geralt shook his head. “Not many go back for the winter. At most, there will be five of us including you and me.” He buried his face in Jaskier's neck again, kissing and licking the way he knew made Jaskier pliant and agreeable. “Come with me. If you don't like it, you never have to come again.”

“What brought this on?” Jaskier sensed some missing some details, like there was another conversation happening in Geralt's mind, and he got to hear half of it.

Geralt pulled back and looked Jaskier in the eye again, one hand behind Jaskier's back, holding him close. “The oil... it reminds me...” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It smells like home. And you smell like you. I've never had those two things together and now I want it. I want to see you in my keep, in my bed, the only place I've ever known as home.” Geralt bit his tongue, biting down on any other words. “Think about it? You have the full year.”

“I'll think about it.” That was a promise Jaskier didn't mind making. There was no harm in thinking about Geralt's offer...

~

All too soon, the days grew warm and Geralt started itching at his beard. No matter how much oil Jaskier gave him, or how well he took care of it, the heat was too much. One night, he returned to their room to find Geralt sitting with a towel over his shoulders, a warm bowl of water on the floor. He pulled a knife out of his bag—sharp and gleaming—and handed it to Jaskier.

“Well, I suppose it had to go sometime.”

Jaskier stripped his doublet and pushed up the sleeves of his undershirt. He had a pair of scissors for cutting his hair and used it to trim Geralt's beard as close to the skin as he dared before wrapping a warm towel around his face to soften the hair and skin. Amber eyes watched him work, Geralt laying a hand on his knee or elbow in comfort. It wasn't a big deal, it was only a beard, and Geralt would grow it back during winter...

But it was a big deal. It was the first tangible something Jaskier requested from Geralt, and Geralt gave it to him. Yes, he knew Geralt stayed at inns more often when they were together purely for Jaskier's preferences, and he knew he picked their camp sites for what might be the most comfortable for Jaskier, but he never asked for those things. He asked for _this_ , and Geralt gave it to him.

The moment he laid the flat of the knife against Geralt's sideburn, Jaskier sighed. “It's fine,” Geralt whispered. “You've shaved me before, I trust you.”

“It's not that. You kept it for me. That makes me think of how much else you do for me, and not for yourself. And you don't ask for much in return.” Geralt stayed silent, his hands falling to Jaskier's hips to keep from bumping his shaving hand. “I'll go to Kaer Morhen with you. You asked me, and I'll go. We can winter together in your home.”

Geralt leaned forward and bumped his head against Jaskier's stomach, smearing a little of the shaving foam on his shirt. “I promise, it's more fun that it sounds. Yes, it's a castle up in the mountains, and there's work to be done, but we have a wine cellar, and there's usually good hunting and riding. Eskel gambles far too easily and he's terrible at cards, you can get a lot of gold out of him. I think you'll like it.”

“I think I will too.”

Geralt kissed Jaskier's stomach, then lifted his head, holding perfectly still for the shave.

~

The weeks passed, summer grew hotter. Every once in a while, on a warm night, Jaskier rolled over and rubbed his hand down Geralt's lightly stubbled cheeks, just a shadow of his winter beard. “Mmm,” Jaskier hummed. “Beard or no beard, it's still a handsome face.” Geralt chuckled and silenced Jaskier with a kiss, which inevitably led to very much more than a kiss.

When a contract sent Geralt one way and an invitation to play sent Jaskier the other, it wasn't like their usual partings. Now they had plans to meet again and make the dangerous trek up to the ancient keep of Kaer Morhen, birthplace and the last home of the Witchers. Jaskier still had his doubts, and with any luck, he'd be able to keep them to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started reading the books, so my Geralt is kind of a combination of Netflix Geralt, and book Geralt.
> 
> I did a lot of research about soap making and the like, but after so many mommy blogs, I realized the exact process wasn't essential to *the plot.* Jaskier is a talented man and knows how to make soap, I think we can all go with this. I am also assuming any ingredient that existed on Earth in the vaguely medieval era, exists in this world. Take this leap with me, everyone, it'll be so much easier when Jaskier mentions coconut oil.
> 
> The slow build tag is kind of a lie. There is a lot of sex in this, a lot, the plot is more the slow builder, I think...
> 
> UPDATE: now with a beautiful banner by rawrkinjd. Thank you so much <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as the sun fully set and the snow swirled through the black air, they rounded the last corner and the full, crumbling majesty of Kaer Morhen was in their sights at last. Jaskier managed to push himself to sit up from where he hunched over Roach to protect himself from the wind. “Are we here?” he shouted over the howling snow.
> 
> “Yes!” Geralt shouted back. Across the bridge, through the broken down gates and into the courtyard. Finally, the wind quieted and Geralt took a deep breath, drinking in the smells of his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: I abuse the wolf comparisons in this fic, mostly starting in this chapter. It gets excessive, I'm not sorry, I think it's adorable.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please let me know if you find one and I'll take care of it. Please enjoy :)

By the time they met again in the last decent sized town before the Kaer Morhen Valley, Jaskier had amassed quite a collection of oils, soaps and scents, waxes and ingredients, so many, they required an extra bag.

Geralt frowned at the over-laden bard. “You realize we have to make it up a mountain. I can't carry your things for you, you carry your own weight.”

“I've had this bag for months, of course I can carry it.” Geralt arched an eyebrow at him and Jaskier adjusted the strap, feeling the sudden need to justify his ingredients. “I started... experimenting. With more oils, and better soaps. And maybe made one or two balms.” He pressed his lips together. “I stayed in the court at Redania for some time, refined my technique. The people there seemed to like it and now I think I have some good scents you can tolerate. Maybe you'll find something you like.”

“Jaskier, you're babbling.” Geralt took a step towards him, but kept a sociable distance, no need to draw attention this close to Kaer Morhen. “You don't need to make anything fancy for me, I don't need it.”

“I know.” Jaskier adjusted his bag again, his eyes falling to the ground as a small blush rose high on his cheeks. “I like making sure you have nice things. There's so little softness and comfort in your life, Geralt. It saddens me. However short our time together is, I wish to fill it with comfort. That's all.”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted and turned away. “Come on, I need a few more supplies before we start off.”

They visited a few merchants, Geralt bought rations, rope, a spare water skin, and a few other odds and ends—and insisted he Jaskier get some proper winter clothes. “Silk doublets will not help you stay warm.”

When they stopped at a tavern on their way out of town to purchase their last hot meal until they reached Kaer Morhen, Geralt came up short. Jaskier said nothing, and reached into his money bag to fill out the missing coin. Geralt opened his mouth to protest, but saw the bulging bag, the gold almost spilling from the top. His mouth closed with a click and he stayed silent until they were hidden away in the dark corner of the tavern.

“Fuck, Jaskier, where did you come by all that?” he whispered.

“I told you, I made oils, soaps and balms at court. The Redanians loved them, paid me far more than they were worth.”

A small smile flashed across Geralt's face, disappearing almost as quickly. “I told you, it's a much better career than a _bard_.”

Jaskier huffed and ate his meal. “And again I say: who would sing of your grand adventures?” Geralt grunted and focused on his food.

They left with their bellies full of a warm meal. Jaskier almost asked to get a room at the tavern, one last night of comfort and warmth before they faced the harsh mountain. “No.” Geralt shook his head. “The sooner you get used to the wilderness again, the better. Court has made you soft.” A quick smile showed he really didn't mean the insult, and Jaskier conceded. He'd probably have to get used to a lot once they actually reached Kaer Morhen, he had to think of the difficult path up the mountain as practice for facing a castle full of Witchers.

It wasn't long before sunset, and Geralt didn't take them far, they got away from the town and any obvious civilization before making camp. When Jaskier finished setting their bedroll by the fire, he stood up and found Geralt right behind him—almost pressed against his chest—two large hands came up to cup his face. Ah, so this was why Geralt wanted them out of town. Despite Jaskier's influence, Geralt didn't let his walls down easily. They'd fuck and kiss in a tavern room, this was true, but Geralt's inhibitions to show his more... romantic side, only dropped once they were in the deep woods, far away from prying eyes.

“You are correct, my life holds little comfort,” Geralt said, picking up their conversation from hours ago like it were only minutes, “but what I do have, comes from you. Make me what you wish, oils, soaps, that beard oil you talked about nonstop. Whatever you have for me, I will take it and enjoy it, just as I enjoy your company for as long as I have it.” Geralt pressed their lips together in the softest, most tender kiss. Jaskier kissed back with equal care and didn't notice the tears running down his cheeks until Geralt's thumb wiped them away.

He pulled back and rested their foreheads together for a moment. “If you do that up at Kaer Morhen, the others will never let you live it down.” He placed one small kiss on Jaskier's lips before backing away. With their hands still tangled together, Geralt pulled Jaskier back to their bedrolls, the suggestion in his eyes obvious.

Jaskier fell upon Geralt, chaste kisses gone, replaced by hungry, demanding lips. The long months apart gave their own sort of desperation to feel Geralt under his hands again, but the mountain was more on his mind. Geralt told him enough stories of Kaer Morhen for Jaskier to know the trail to the castle was just as dangerous as the occupants inside. Add in the freezing mountains and quickly advancing winter, this might be the last chance they had to touch and feel each other before they got to the keep. Jaskier wasn't about to waste it.

Geralt pulled Jaskier into his lap, their lips never parting, not even when they both groaned at the new contact. Jaskier rolled his hips, grinding down, and Geralt growled in return, the playful growl of a wolf to its mate.

With one last nip to Jaskier's lips, Geralt rolled them both over, pinning Jaskier to the bedroll and kissing down his neck. He opened buttons as he went, slowly revealing the bard's hairy chest, rubbing his face against the soft fur. Jaskier squawked at the indignity, but Geralt ignored him. For how slight and _feminine_ he made himself appear, Jaskier was a man—he had chest hair, broad shoulders, he smelled like sweat under all his perfumes, and his cock stood up proudly, jabbing Geralt in the stomach, demanding attention.

Jaskier tangled his fingers in those white locks as Geralt got lower... and lower... and lower... Warm fingers pulled open his laces and a hot mouth settled over his cock. Jaskier bucked, gripping a little too tight. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Fuck Geralt, your mouth...”

Geralt didn't answer, couldn't answer, either way, Jaskier was happy to let him continue whatever he was doing. The way the flat of his tongue pressed on the underside of Jaskier's cock, providing an extra layer of pressure as his throat tried to suck out his soul...

With his eyes tight shut, reveling in the sensations of Geralt's sweet mouth, Jaskier didn't notice the Witcher's other hand dropping down to open his own laces. He brought that beautiful cock out into the world and started stroking in time with his sucking, each movement mirrored so he felt exactly what he was doing to Jaskier.

When Jaskier opened his eyes, that head of snowy white hair bobbing over his lap and the sight of Geralt's hand wrapped around his own cock did him in. He arched forward, coming hard. Oh, it really had been too long. No matter how difficult Kaer Morhen was to get to, Jaskier looked forward to months of non-stop sex in Geralt's bed. He was ready to fuck so much, his cock stopped working, like any good winter should be.

Collapsing back, Jaskier saw Geralt twitch as well, a veritable fountain of come shooting away from their bedroll. Geralt tossed his hair back and laid his head on Jaskier's thigh, happy, satisfied eyes smiling up at him.

“Oh great, don't even leave anything for me,” Jaskier pouted. “I've been looking forward to sucking your cock for months. Court is all well and good, but no one there looks like a fucking marble statue. It's intolerable!”

Geralt peered down at his cock and shrugged. “Give me ten minutes.”

Ten minutes later, Jaskier did indeed get what he wanted.

~

The next morning, their climb began. Geralt had told Jaskier about the way to Kaer Morhen before, but part of him suspected the bard saw it all as some story to frighten children and locals away from the keep. “It will be difficult,” he said. “The Witchers trail is dangerous, deadly for those who don't know its secrets.”

Jaskier nodded. “I trust you.”

The earnestness in those sky blue eyes... it made Geralt want to pull Jaskier close an never let him go. So that's exactly what he did.

Grabbing Jaskier, lute, stupid heavy bags and all, Geralt pulled the bard to his chest and kissed him, deep and long, his tongue licking into his mouth. Jaskier moaned, swooning a bit in Geralt's arms. But all good things must come to an end, and with another small kiss, Geralt released him. He only hoped Jaskier remembered kisses like that when they were two thousand feet up, freezing their balls off, with Kaer Morhen still three days away.

“Woo.” Jaskier shook himself, his eyes a little dazed. “What was that for?”

“For when you start complaining of the cold and I want to murder you.”

Jaskier's smile dimmed a little. “I guess that's fair. Onward?”

Onward they went, up the clearly marked road, which became less clear after only a few miles, then reduced down to nothing more than a footpath. Jaskier stopped and peered around, trying to pick up the path again, but Geralt kept moving. He dismounted from Roach hours ago when the road started to disappear and led her by the reins. He led Roach, and Jaskier followed her. The horse was easier to keep sight of, after all.

By the time the sun started to set, the trees were beginning to thin and the wind picked up. Geralt nodded to himself, he didn't think they'd get this far the first day. They made a small camp and ate quickly.

When they climbed into the bedroll and a hand traveled down Geralt's chest, he grabbed Jaskier's wrist and shook his head. “You don't feel it yet. Today was exhausting for you and tomorrow will be the same. You need as much sleep as you can get.”

Jaskier frowned, but conceded. “You know best.” He wiggled down into the bedroll, making sure to brush his ass against Geralt's cock with every small movement. He was trying to trick Geralt into giving in... it wouldn't work. Geralt just had to take his revenge when they reached Kaer Morhen.

The next days were worse. Much worse. It got colder, the wind faster, the snow more blinding. Jaskier huddled between Geralt and Roach for warmth until the path became too narrow and he had to shiver on his own. He pulled his new winter cloak tight around his shoulders. And still, he didn't say a word in complaint.

That night, when Geralt pulled Jaskier to his chest, he didn't care about the freezing cold nose that forced its way under his ear, he simply held his bard, trying to bring back some of the body heat the mountain stole.

“I'm cold,” Jaskier whispered into Geralt's neck. The tears were thick in his voice and Geralt bit his tongue, Jaskier did not need a lecture about how crying would only make his face colder.

“We're making good time. Maybe two more days.” A piteous whine floated from Jaskier and Geralt held him closer.

The next day was no better and by the time they made camp, Jaskier looked ready to throw himself off the cliff. He'd even stopped trying to tempt Geralt into sex. Geralt decided this was the time to pull out one of Kaer Morhen's secrets, something he'd held back until the correct moment.

“When Kaer Morhen was built, they chose this mountain for many reasons. Out of the way, difficult to access—”

Jaskier snorted. “No shit.”

“—easily defensible,” Geralt continued like Jaskier hadn't interrupted. “One of the lesser known reasons was the mountain itself. It has a hot spring.”

Jaskier twitched against Geralt's chest but it took a moment for him to lift his face from the warmth there. “What?”

“Kaer Morhen was built on a hot spring. Vesemir turned it into quite the bath house with his renovations. He always said: he didn't survive the mutations, the trials, and the fighting to spend his long life around dozens of stinking boys.”

Geralt was quiet while the new information sunk into Jaskier's half frozen brain. Pretty pink lips dropped open in shock. “You must be joking. You're trying to make me feel better.”

“No. Kaer Morhen has a hot spring. It's part of the reason I wanted you to come this winter. After you told me about the spring outside Oxenfurt. I thought you'd... enjoy it.”

Jaskier buried his face into Geralt's chest again, but this time, he felt a smile against his skin. “I'm going to spend all winter in there.”

“As long as I'm there with you.” He kissed the top of Jaskier's head, glad this news brightened the bard a little. He only hoped that brightness lasted the next day or so.

The final stretch was the worst. Not because of any danger, Geralt already led them past the most treacherous portions of the trail without mentioning it to Jaskier, but to be so close and still have so far to go, that was the true challenge. It weighed on one's mind, making every step agony.

The promise of the hot spring buoyed Jaskier's spirits for most of the day, but the sun set early in the top of the mountains and cold came faster. Soon, Jaskier was shivering, tripping over his own feet, looking miserable once more. Geralt so wanted to tell him only an hour more, but the wind blew all their words away.

When they were less than half a mile out from the gates, Jaskier started to falter, falling and landing in the snow one too many times. Geralt put him on Roach for the last stretch, he trusted her footing more than Jaskier's right now. He stroked one gloved hand across Jaskier's back, hoping he understood...

Just as the sun fully set and the snow swirled through the black air, they rounded the last corner and the full, crumbling majesty of Kaer Morhen was in their sights at last. Jaskier managed to push himself to sit up from where he hunched over Roach to protect himself from the wind. “Are we here?” he shouted over the howling snow.

“Yes!” Geralt shouted back. He took Roach's reins and led her towards the bridge. It was a path she'd walked many times before, but not with a passenger. Geralt usually didn't push her this far up the mountain, but Jaskier's need was obviously greater. She'd be able to rest soon enough.

Across the bridge, through the broken down gates and into the courtyard. Finally, the wind quieted and Geralt took a deep breath, drinking in the smells of his home.

~

Jaskier didn't remember walking into Kaer Morhen. He saw the place—towering stone crumbling under time and the weight of too many battles, but still as breath taking as ever—and he remembered Geralt pulling him from Roach's back. Now he was in a warm bed and honestly, he wasn't complaining. He opened one bleary eye to peer around the room and saw all his things, along with Geralt's armor and swords, propped up against the far wall. A fire roared in the grate and generally, everything felt nice.

The door opened and Geralt walked in, wearing a dirtier than usual tunic and breeches. “Good, you're awake.” He knelt down next to the bed and stroked one soiled hand over Jaskier's cheek. Whatever Geralt was covered in, he didn't care, he was just happy to see him.

“Hello,” Jaskier said. He tilted his head, enjoying the soft touch on his cheek for a moment. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Not long. I've been up since before dawn, but the sun rose maybe two hours ago.” He pulled his hand away. The last thing he needed was for Jaskier to tempt him into bed when there was still so much to be done. “If you're well enough to come down, we need you to work.”

“Work? Work, yes.” Jaskier rolled over and felt all his muscles protest at once. The heat was nice, but at least the cold climb froze all his muscles in place and he couldn't feel the ache. The fire thawed him out, and all his pains. He sat up anyway. “Of course, I can work.” Despite the reputation bards gathered for being air-headed sex addicts, Jaskier wasn't an idiot. He was spending the winter in a half destroyed old castle with a group of Witchers, of course they expected him to pull his weight. Geralt never let him slack off, why should the others?

He got dressed in his warmest clothes (and one of Geralt's spare jerkins, for good measure) and they made their way down the stairs. Jaskier had been itching to explore Geralt's room, see what keepsakes he had from his complicated youth, but the work of readying for the winter had to come first. Besides, he had all season to poke and prod, and pull embarrassing stories from the other Witchers. That alone was worth the trip.

While the grate in Geralt's room roared with a fire, the staircases and corridors were frozen. Over his shoulder, Geralt saw Jaskier hug his cloak tighter around himself. “Once we get the lower fires going, it won't be so bad. Heat rises.” He gestured to the dirt covering his clothes and arms. “I'm bringing in wood and cleaning the flues. When that's done, we'll be warmer.

“You should head into the courtyard and tend to the animals. Roach likes you more than the others, and you know how to feed chickens, right?”

“I give the orders in this keep, Geralt,” a gruff voice said.

A large hall opened at the bottom of the stairs. Two other Witchers sat at a long table, a man with closely cut dark hair, and another white wolf—this one clearly white from age, not extra mutations like Geralt. From all of the stories he'd heard, this could only be Vesemir, Geralt's mentor and—for lack of a better term—father.

“Fine.” Though he didn't physically react to getting put in his place, Jaskier noticed a change. He couldn't describe it... some small adjustment in the curve of Geralt's spine, like he absorbed a psychic blow only he felt. Jaskier fought the urge to step closer in comfort. “What do you need him to do?”

While Vesemir's eyes said “take a flying leap off my castle walls,” his voice said: “There's two carts of supplies in the courtyard. Put it all in the pantry,” he jabbed a thumb to the door behind him, “wine goes to the cellar. If your bard can handle that.”

“Yes, I can,” Jaskier said.

He went to leave when the dark haired Witcher grunted, finally taking notice of Jaskier. “This is your bard?” Yellow eyes harsher and angrier than Geralt's looked him over. “Don't see what the fuss is about. Guess he keeps your cock warm.”

“Jaskier, go to the courtyard,” Geralt said before he had a chance to answer back—like Jaskier would back sass an unfamiliar Witcher, once again: not stupid—and grabbed half a loaf of bread from the table. He threw it at Jaskier. “Eat that first. Don't need you to faint and spill half the supplies.”

Oh, the bread was still warm. Jaskier ate quickly and headed towards the courtyard. When he wasn't quite out of earshot, he heard Geralt snarl.

“Fuck, Lambert, can't you ignore him like I asked? We just got here.”

“If you wanted us to ignore him, you shouldn't have brought him,” the other Witcher, Lambert apparently, growled back. “The sooner he gets used to us, the better.”

“Both of you, shut up,” Vesemir commanded. There was no growl or posturing in that voice, simply the tone of someone used to being obeyed. “We all have work to do. Go do it.”

Jaskier decided to heed Vesemir's advice and headed out to the courtyard. Two small wagons filled with supplies met him. “How the hell did they get this up the mountain?” he mumbled to himself, then started unpacking. Flour, other grains, herbs, dried meet, a few pheasants secured with a game noose, and more wine than Jaskier had ever seen in one place... at least the Witchers knew how to live.

It took hours to get all the supplies put away and as soon as Jaskier went to sit down and rest, Vesemir's sharp eyes caught him. “See to Geralt's mount. Lambert's too, while you're there.”

“Yes.” Jaskier stretched out the aches in his back and headed outside.

The day passed in that same way: as soon as Jaskier finished his assigned task, Vesemir gave him a new one. Never too difficult, he wasn't asked to clean the flues with Geralt or repair cracks and broken beams like Lambert, but it was exhausting, especially after the trip up the mountain. But Jaskier kept his mouth shut and did as asked, he didn't want to embarrass Geralt by wimping out the first day.

After he returned from stoking the fires in the occupied rooms, Jaskier went to flop down on a bench in the dining hall, fully expecting Vesemir to interrupt his small attempt at rest. But when he arrived at the hall, everyone was gathered again, the work done for the day, dinner roasting in the large cooking fire.

“Oh... that smells amazing.” Jaskier collapsed onto the bench next to Geralt and went to nuzzle his face against his shoulder, then stopped himself and sat up straight. “How was your day, Geralt?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around Jaskier, pulling him close. He pressed his nose to the top of his head, inhaling deeply before whispering, “This is my home. Do not shy away from me here.”

Jaskier peered around to find that no one was looking at them—Vesemir was too busy cooking, and Lambert was sharpening his swords, utterly indifferent to whatever Geralt was doing. Only then did Jaskier give in and melt into his side. “I missed you today,” he whispered, knowing full well the others heard him. Part of him didn't care, not with the exhaustion so deep in his bones and Geralt lovely and firm next to him, Jaskier didn't care about anything anymore. Geralt grunted, but the hand around him squeezed a little, and that was all he needed.

The meal was—to put it lightly—amazing. Vesemir roasted the pheasants Jaskier unloaded earlier, seasoning them with salt, bay leaves, and black pepper, a simple combination but oh so delicious. “This is...” Jaskier trailed off, tearing another bite off the bird he was sharing with Geralt. “The most... delicious, oh, the best fucking bird I've ever tasted.”

Vesemir cracked a small smile. “You don't get to my age without picking up a few cooking skills.” He kicked Geralt under the table, then Lambert. “These pups are hopeless, though. Never wanted to learn.”

“Mmm.” Jaskier licked the juice off his lips. Pheasant was a lean meat, but the way Vesemir prepared it managed to seal in all juices. Jaskier was so hungry, he didn't bother with cutlery (also, none was provided) and the juice smeared his face and chin.

Dinner passed without much more conversation, save Jaskier's moans of delight at the truly delicious food. Geralt had to pull him away from the table. “You're full, Jaskier, I can see your stomach through your shirt.”

Jaskier whined. “But it's so good!” He let Geralt tow him up the freezing staircase and noticed it was a bit warmer than earlier. Maybe he wouldn't get frost bite this winter.

When they reached Geralt's room, Jaskier flopped down on the bed, he didn't even remove his clothes. Hands pawed at him and Geralt clicked his tongue. “This is my bed for once, I don't want dirty clothes all over it,” he chided.

“Then you take them off.” Jaskier wasn't in a sexy mood, he was just so tired, and so full of warm food, he didn't think he could get it up for anything, not even fucking Geralt of fucking Rivia.

With Jaskier in a puddle on the bed, Geralt pulled, rolled him over and maneuvered as needed to get the sleepy bard out of his soiled clothes, leaving only the long underwear he insisted Jaskier buy—such a good idea, his dangly bits were still snug and warm in the drafty castle.

As more and more skin was revealed, Geralt took extra time caressing, and a deep purr built in his chest. “You're too tired?”

“Yes,” Jaskier sighed. “Sorry.”

“That's fine.” A warm hand slid down Jaskier's side. “Do you mind if I... try something?”

Opening one sleepy eye, Jaskier looked Geralt up and down. Warm amber eyes shined at him, heat rising along Geralt's skin the more he touched, and the obvious bulge in his breeches. How could Jaskier say no to such desire? “It's fine, as long as I don't have to participate.”

Geralt removed his clothes and climbed in the bed behind him, pushing up close. “Don't worry,” that sinful voice whispered in his ear, making the hair on Jaskier's neck stand up. “You don't even need to be hard.”

One arm forced its way between Jaskier and the bed, holding on to his hip, while the other curled around him, lightly stroking his chest and holding them close, chest to back. Geralt's cock settled into the crack of Jaskier's ass, the usual heat of the Witcher dulled a little by the extra layer of fabric. He was about to ask the game here, then with the first roll of Geralt's hips, it all clicked together.

Slow but firm, Geralt thrust against Jaskier's ass, grunting softly. Teeth pulled at Jaskier's ear and Geralt nuzzled his neck, breathing him in as his hips rolled, harvesting this simple pleasure from Jaskier's oh so willing body. Broad hands and strong fingers held on tight, almost enough to bruise, but Geralt knew where their limits were. As he rolled his hips, his breathing grew faster, thrusts picking up speed. Geralt was about to make a mess of Jaskier's warm clothes and neither of them cared.

He stopped suddenly, the lips against Jaskier's neck pausing mid-kiss. After a breath, Geralt rolled them over, putting Jaskier on his back and straddling his hips. “Alright?” Geralt's hand brushed Jaskier's too full belly and he nodded.

“Quickly.” While one would never call a Witcher quick to completion (seriously, Jaskier had the sore jaw to prove it some nights) Geralt seemed particularly desperate for some reason. That reason spilled from his lips as Geralt took himself in hand, stroking while he gazed at Jaskier, laid out like a dream.

“Do you know how long I've wanted you in my bed? Warmed by my fire?” His strokes sped up and he licked his lips. “Fuck, last winter I thought about getting new sheets to match your eyes.”

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed, arching a little and preening for Geralt's pleasure. “You should do that.”

A few more strokes and Geralt came with a drawn out moan, he'd never been that loud before and Jaskier was almost hard at the noise. Geralt in this place, in his home at Kaer Morhen, was truly a sight to behold. He couldn't wait to spend the winter finding out what other sounds Geralt made when he was in his own bed.

The noises were lovely, the quickly cooling streaks of come across his stomach... not so much. Geralt licked his lips and they both knew what would usually happen in this situation, but given Jaskier's too full stomach, Geralt did not lick him clean. He got up and dipped a cloth in the nearby wash basin, wiping Jaskier down with the coldest water in the world. He was proud to say he only whimpered a little.

After they both had a wipe down, Geralt climbed into the bed and wrapped around Jaskier, poking his nose in the crook of the bard's neck and inhaling deeply. Jaskier hadn't had time to wash today, so his natural musk showed through, giving his scent a thick layer of salty sweat. Geralt took a deeper breath, the smells of his bed, his room, mixing with his bard. Comfort spread through is chest like creeping vines, wrapping around his heart, binding his castle and his bard together in Geralt's mind for the rest of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier cries a lot in this fic, but usually from too much emotion or happy tears. I don't let anyone hurt my soft bard :) There is a lot of tension with Eskel and Lambert to start, but trust me, the Domestic Fluff tag is not a mistake. It gets so sappy, you guys.
> 
> There will be a lot in the hot spring, it's kind of what half inspired this fic. Cave hot springs are a thing, I did my research.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I fear we're working you too hard. You must be exhausted to forget.” Before Jaskier could ask what the hell Geralt was going on about, the door swung open.
> 
> The gentle shush of water over rocks triggered Jaskier's memory of their conversation on the frozen mountain. “The hot spring!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At first, I was going to make a Roman type bath house at Kaer Morhen, but with the mountain and all, a cave hot spring sounded more fitting (and I definitely didn't want to figure out how to get pipes in, because that kind of nonsense is important to me). I was thinking more a Japanese style Onsen than anything, if that helps readers visualize.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, let me know if you find one and I'll fix it. As always, enjoy.

Having proved himself useful and capable of taking orders, Vesemir let Geralt set Jaskier's tasks the next day. They were no less tiring, but at least Geralt knew what Jaskier was good at. He knew Jaskier was much better with the horses than anyone else in the castle—save Geralt himself—and any idiot could feed chickens.

Both Lambert and Geralt had a few items of laundry that needed washing, and after Jaskier stoked the fires, the laundry dried in no time. He took care of it all without a word of protest, even when Lambert made a snide remark as he passed. “Bard, stable boy, laundry... is there anything you can't do?”

Later that night, after the sun set and the work was finished, Vesemir cooked another lovely meal of smoked pork and apples. “Tomorrow should be the last of it,” he said. “Some holes in the courtyard walls need fixing, then we'll be settled for winter.”

“We'll have training in the mornings,” Geralt said, “but in the afternoons, we can spend the days how you like.” Jaskier smiled, too tired to do more than lean against Geralt's arm, enjoying the touch.

They all ate in silent exhaustion for a while (well, Jaskier was exhausted) until the creaking of the front doors made the room go still. Wind blew from the front corridor into the dining hall and Jaskier shivered. The door slammed shut and a moment later, a man in black armor appeared. Despite his dark hair and scarred face, he looked the spit of Geralt, like they might be brothers.

Geralt smiled widely and stood up, opening his arms. “Eskel.”

The two large men slammed together in an embrace so tight, Jaskier felt like _he_ couldn't breathe. Their shoulders and arms bulged as they hugged, holding each other for a long moment, Geralt in his shirtsleeves, Eskel still in armor. When they finally pulled apart, they didn't go far, resting their foreheads together, continuing the silent greeting.

Geralt told him of Eskel once when they were both very drunk, it's the only way Jaskier got any information about his past, when they drank deeply and shared stories. “He and I trained together,” Geralt said, fingers curled around the neck of a bottle. It had been empty for some time, but that didn't mean he wanted to let go of it. “Of all my brothers, all the boys who survived with me, Eskel felt like...” He paused, leaning his head back and closing his eyes for a moment. “It felt like he was the other part of me. We fought well together, we learned well together, and it all seemed to work out better when we were together. Things tended to go to shit after we parted.”

Jaskier smiled, ignoring the small pang of jealousy in his heart. “You love him.”

He didn't answer for a moment. “Not like I...” Geralt's words trailed off and he was suddenly very interested in the empty bottle.

Jaskier placed a hand on top of his. “Not like you love me.” Geralt didn't say that word, not really. He showed love through deeds and action. Jaskier didn't need to hear the words when Geralt's love was so obvious through other means. “I understand. Like brothers in arms.”

“Yes.” Geralt liked that phrasing. “Brothers in arms. Deeper than blood. That's Eskel.”

And now here Eskel was, holding Geralt in the middle of the dining hall of Kaer Morhen, their foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, surrounded by their father and another brother. For the first time since they arrived, Jaskier felt like... an outsider, an interloper. He didn't belong here among these titans of men. There was so much history behind their yearly journey to spend the winter together, he saw that now, part of him should have known all along.

They both took one last deep breath and parted, but Geralt kept a hand on Eskel's elbow. “It figures you'd show up right as the work is mostly finished.”

Eskel smirked, the scars twisting a little, but the softness in his eyes cut through the rough facade he displayed. “That was the plan.” He bumped shoulders with Geralt one more time before going to greet the others, ignoring Jaskier. “Saw the broken mortar in the courtyard. The four of us should be able to get it done quickly.”

“Five,” Lambert said.

Geralt shot him an icy glare, smacking him across the shoulder, but it was too late. Eskel's eyes fell on Jaskier for the first time, roving over him like he was judging an animal. His eyes flicked away and Jaskier knew he'd been found wanting. “The four of us can manage.”

“Jaskier has other tasks to complete,” Geralt said. He didn't elaborate and Jaskier hoped that meant he'd be free to sleep in a little. Or tune his lute, he hadn't touched the instrument in days and he already felt out of practice.

The Witchers spent the rest of the dinner talking amongst themselves. Even Geralt ignored Jaskier, which he didn't mind. His brothers were all home now, including his favorite brother, of course he'd want to catch up.

Finished with his dinner, Jaskier rose from his seat, leaving them to it. Geralt's hand shot out faster than a snake, catching his wrist. “Stay,” he said. “We haven't even gotten out the wine yet.”

“They don't celebrate until they're all together,” Vesemir said. “Be wary drinking with them, little lark, normal men cannot keep up with Witchers.”

“And normal Witchers cannot keep up with the School of the Wolf!” Lambert shouted, lifting his cup. The others grunted in agreement and Lambert got up, heading towards the wine cellar Jaskier helped stock.

Eskel continued eating, finishing the last helping of pork and the better part of a loaf of bread by the time Lambert came back into the hall, a half cask of wine thrown over his shoulder, another two bottles in his hand. Eskel stood up from the table and grabbed one of the bottles. “So you fools don't finish it all off before I get back!” He laughed and retreated up the stairs to his room to strip his armor and put his belongings away. Jaskier hadn't had time to watch Geralt do any of that, as he was passed out that first night, he imagined it was a satisfying ritual. A Witcher only removed their armor when their work was done, and here in their home for the winter, the year's work was truly completed and they could all have a good long rest.

When Eskel came back down the stairs, he had on a deep red tunic, the color a warm currant. As usual, Jaskier's mouth started moving before his brain thought better of it. “I thought Witchers were allergic to color?”

A dead silence spread through the hall, only the popping and crackling of the fire interrupting it. Cold sweat broke across Jaskier's lower back and his heart pounded. Did he just... mock a Witcher? When he agreed to winter with Geralt, he didn't think it would be his last winter.

Eskel's shoulders started to shake in a small chuckle that slowly built until he threw back his head and laughed. “No,” he laughed, “that's just Geralt.” He slammed down on the bench on Geralt's other side, clapping him on the back. “Maybe I need to get a bard. Your wardrobe is so dreary, the world thinks we all can't dress for shit. Write songs about me, little lark, then the world will know better.”

“Hmm,” Geralt grunted. “I look good in black. It compliments my hair. Do you know how many petitions I've found with: _Seeking Witcher, Geralt of Rivia_ , written on them? My face is memorable.” He punched Eskel's shoulder. “Yours, it appears, is not.”

They all laughed and the terror in the pit of Jaskier's stomach started to ebb away. He could get through this night, all he had to do was keep his mouth shut... sure, that was never easy for him, but miracles happened.

Lambert brought around the wine for everyone—skipping over Jaskier until Geralt thumped the other man on the head, bringing him back to fill Jaskier's cup. “Thank you,” he said and drank. Drinking and keeping his mouth shut were mutually exclusive activities, so he had to be careful here.

As the night passed, the Witchers talked and swapped stories of the last year. Vesemir, who lived in Kaer Morhen mostly year round, interjected to correct their mistakes. “Lambert, you fool, next time, you have to attack from the side and slip under their guard. Do you remember nothing of my lessons?”

Surprisingly enough, Jaskier did manage to hold his tongue, even as the wine flowed so freely. He loved a good story, and if Geralt smelled of death, destiny, heroics and heartbreak, Lambert smelled of youthful vigor—spicy and sharp—and Eskel smelled of deep longing and pain, and a hint of magic. Even Vesemir, the exciting tales from his long life that poured off him like the scents of the kitchen and the old stones of the castle itself. They all had stories to tell, and Jaskier lapped them up. He'd never write a ballad from these stories, unfortunately, they probably wouldn't let him. Geralt barely tolerated his songs.

When they drained the cask and Lambert fetched a few more bottles, Eskel pulled a deck of cards from his money bag. A half-feral glint in Geralt's eye told Jaskier how the rest of the evening would go, while he was good at cards, he didn't much like playing. He stood up from the table with a bit of a wobble.

Geralt rose next to him. “Where are you going?”

“Bed,” Jaskier said, happy to find he wasn't slurring. “I figured I'd leave you all to the game.”

Geralt crowded in close (which Jaskier still wasn't used to, not in front of other people, at least) and wrapped one arm around his hips. “There's something I want to show you first.” He led them down the corridor, away from the heat of the dining hall, and called over his shoulder, “Don't take all of Eskel's coin until I get back!”

Geralt took them up a staircase, into a colder part of the castle. He hugged Jaskier close before he even felt the chill. “This is the evening hall,” Geralt said, opening two large doors. A fire burned low in the grate and a few chests and books were scattered about on the tables, so the room did see some use, probably Vesemir looking for peace and quiet from all his sudden house guests.

Steering them over to a door at the far side of the hall, Geralt stopped, his hand on the knob. “I fear we're working you too hard. You must be exhausted to forget.” Before Jaskier could ask what the hell Geralt was going on about, the door swung open.

The gentle shush of water over rocks triggered Jaskier's memory of their conversation on the frozen mountain. “The hot spring!”

Geralt fetched a torch from the wall and followed Jaskier inside. Light bounced off the water and the wet rocks, making the room shine. The spring poured out into a large pool, half natural, half carved to accommodate bathers; Jaskier saw a bench below the water line carved into the stone, fit for lounging or bathing, and a few other carved seats around the edge of the pool for those who only wanted to dip their legs. Half a dozen wood benches, worn smooth with age and thousands of hands touching them, were spread around the room, some in better condition than others, with a few wooden panels that moved around to give privacy as needed. A natural indent in the wall looked like a perfect spot for Jaskier to store his soaps and oils. And the whole place radiated a humid heat that warmed Jaskier deep into his bones, like the first warm rain of spring. The whole hot spring was just—

“Perfect,” Jaskier whispered. “Geralt, this is perfect.”

Heavy arms settled around his hips and Jaskier melted back into Geralt's chest. “Good. I thought you'd like it.”

“I _love_ it.”

“Tomorrow, while we're out repairing the walls, you can be in here. Set it up as you like, bring your oils and scents, and when I finish my work...” His head dipped down, lips brushing against Jaskier's neck and sending shivers down his spine. “We can have a bath.”

Jaskier spun in Geralt's arms and crushed their lips together, licking and biting, and doing all the things he desperately wanted them to do in the heated mineral water behind them. Geralt was the first to pull away and rest their foreheads together. “If I come to bed in an hour... will you be awake?”

Jaskier was truly exhausted. Even the buoyant mood brought on by the hot spring couldn't chase away the sleep weighing on his every limb. If he got in the water now—like he desperately wanted to—he'd probably fall asleep and drown. “Probably not.” He kissed Geralt again. “But you can wake me.”

“Good.” One last kiss and they turned back towards the dining hall, Jaskier only a little sad to leave the hot spring. “I'll take Eskel's coin, then come up to bed.”

Jaskier was asleep when Geralt finally came to bed, but he wasn't asleep for long.

~

The next morning, Jaskier rose before Geralt, eager to get back down to the hot spring. Or, he tried to. As soon as he climbed from the bed, Geralt opened one sleepy eye and caught the waist of his long underwear with those too fast reflexes.

“Where do you think you're going? Sun's not even up.”

“Down to the hot spring.” Jaskier let Geralt pull him back into the warm bed and wrap his arms around him. One hand floated down to Jaskier's cock—still in its half hard morning condition—and squeezed lightly. “Oh... don't tempt me.”

“I will most definitely tempt you.” He squeezed again, stroking a little.

Jaskier whined. “Wouldn't you rather fuck me when we're all nice and clean after I set up the baths?”

“Why can't we do both?”

So Jaskier resigned himself to staying in bed a little longer and let Geralt kiss him, long and deep, until he was moaning against Geralt's lips like a poor innocent farm hand with the farmer's daughter. Pushing down his long underwear, Geralt's fingers wrapped around his cock and started stroking. “Mmm, fuck,” he moaned, writhing in Geralt's arms.

Primed as he was so early in the morning, it didn't take long for Jaskier to spill across Geralt's fingers. Geralt held his eyes as he licked the sticky come away, making the most debauched noises... Jaskier whined again. “Are you trying to kill me? If you wanted to kill me this winter, you could've thrown me off the mountain on the way up, saved yourself some time.”

His head still a little fuzzy from not enough sleep and a fantastic orgasm, Jaskier slid down until Geralt's cock was right in front of his mouth. Geralt spread his legs and threw his head back, threading his fingers in Jaskier's hair as he worked. “You're too good to me,” he grunted.

When they were both sated and happy, Geralt finally let Jaskier leave. “I'll be in the courtyard at dawn,” he said. “We'll probably work until near sunset. Should I meet you in the hot spring?”

“Yes, see you later.” Jaskier was already distracted, his mind making lists of what he wanted to do today. Part of him knew he had all winter to transform the hot spring into a luxurious bath house any King would spend good coin to visit (not that anyone outside Kaer Morhen would ever see it, Jaskier could dream, though) but another part of him, the more impatient part, wanted everything to be perfect by the time Geralt was done working. He was sure the other Witchers would enjoy the space as well, but Geralt's opinion mattered more.

Over the past few days, Jaskier made himself useful, he knew that, but useful might not be enough. Holed up together in a castle for so long, he didn't want Geralt to get... tired, of him. Jaskier wasn't stupid enough to think he'd tamed the White Wolf; he was fussy and delicate, complicated and very opinionated, and he tended to attract the wrong kind of trouble, Jaskier dreaded the day Geralt decided he wasn't worth it, and he'd be damned if that day came any time soon. Yes, he'd show he was good for more than a song and keeping Geralt's cock warm.

Grabbing his bag of ingredients, soaps and oils, Jaskier climbed down the stairs towards the hot spring. He had so much to do before sundown.

As soon as he reached the spring, Jaskier combed the whole place with a torch, searching for a brazier, a sconce... anything to hold and provide light. He found two deep notches in the stone with small braziers, and two ugly cage-like sconces. It would do for now. Once he had a moderate amount of light, Jaskier looked around the hot spring and planned.

The movable wooden panels had definitely seen better days, but nothing a good sanding couldn't fix. As he pushed them aside, gathering them on one side of the cavernous space, a small stack of wooden buckets tumbled out from behind the screens. “Wash buckets!” Oh yes, Jaskier was hoping for some tucked away in here, now he didn't have to go scouring the castle for them. He gathered up the buckets and brought them to the edge of the water, arranging them on a natural shelf in the stone.

“Yes, yes, perfect...” he whispered to himself. He'd thought to grab his composition notebook and sketch out a rough diagram, but Jaskier found he didn't need it, the plan came together in his head more and more the longer he worked.

He found some more furniture and other useful items in a storage room in the back of the cave: a few more buckets, old candle sticks forgotten by time, a stack of surprisingly clean bath sheets, and two more wooden benches. He placed one of the benches in front of the natural notch in the wall where he hoped to store his oils and soaps. The light in here wasn't right for actually working, but to best wash Geralt's hair and dirt streaked skin, he needed his things close to hand. He placed one of the candle sticks in the notch and found some spare candles in the evening hall, nodding to himself at the suddenly adequate lighting. “Might even be able to shave him by this light,” Jaskier muttered to himself. “What I would've give for a full wash tub so they don't get dirt in the spring...” Hmm, yes, that was something to ask Vesemir about. Next he set about dragging the wooden panels out into the evening hall to look them over in better light. He dashed out to the courtyard and borrowed some tools and a sander from one of the sheds, then he truly got down to work.

At the end of the day, Jaskier was standing in a cave, and there was no sun to tell him the time. He didn't realize how late it was until he heard boots scraping through the evening hall. “Jaskier?” Geralt called.

“Shit.” Scrambling to arrange the last bench, Jaskier swept his eyes over the room once again before running out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Geralt came to a stop in front of the door to the hot spring, one filthy arm outstretched, eyebrow raised. Actually, filthy might be an understatement... Geralt was covered, from head to toe, in some combination of mud, brick dust, mortar, and blood. Jaskier saw a bit of straw in his hair as well. “What the hell happened to you?” The mud and brick dust he understood, but how did Geralt of Rivia—famous slayer of monsters—get injured patching a fucking wall?

Geralt glanced at the flecks of blood on his shirt and the already healed cut on his arm. “Eskel thought it would be funny to push me off the scaffolding. I landed in the chicken coop and the fence broke my fall. Eskel gets to fix it tomorrow.” He leaned over, trying to peer behind Jaskier. “Making progress? We took longer than planned and I thought you'd be in the dining hall by now.”

“Well, I took a bit longer than planned as well.” Jaskier placed a hand on the doorknob, a large smile breaking across his face. “I think I have everything the way I like it. There's still room to improve, obviously, but... you'll see.”

Jaskier opened the door, revealing all his hard work. Geralt stepped into the cave and peered around. His eyes fell on the benches first and he smirked. “I remember those. They were always the nicest seat in the castle, far smoother than the benches in the dining hall. Did you turn them over? One has a G and an E carved into the bottom.”

“No, I did not. I'll make sure to do that.” While Jaskier was happy to hear the sweet memory of school boy vandalism, Geralt didn't continue with his opinion. He nudged his arm. “Anything else?”

“Hmm... I like the candles. There was never enough light in here.” Another smirk crossed his lips, this one with a mischievous little glint in Geralt's eye. “Though, it made it easier to hide when you wanted a quick hand in the back corner.”

Jaskier opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again. It hadn't occurred to him, not once in all the years they traveled together, that Geralt might have had _liaisons_ with other Witchers, and now he felt very stupid. Of course dozens of boys cooped up in a castle fooled around with each other, not a girl in sight, Jaskier had been to school, he'd done the same.

Suddenly, the beautiful bath house he hoped to build felt less like a place of cleanliness and more a palace of debauchery. Fuck, did Jaskier accidentally revive the memories of youthful trysts with the other Witchers—who were currently in this castle—reminding Geralt that he had much, much better options than a skinny, annoying bard?

Sensing Jaskier's panic, Geralt stepped closer and wrapped an arm around him. Jaskier took a gulp of air and pressed his face into Geralt's dirt streaked tunic, he didn't even care about the mess. “I have so many memories of Kaer Morhen, most of them painful and harsh. I decided a long time ago to let go of the bad, and remember only the good.” He kissed the top of Jaskier's head. “This spring was a place of rest, calm, and pleasure. You will make it so again.”

“I hope so,” Jaskier whispered. Panic receding a little, Jaskeir saw the true extent of the dirt on Geralt's clothing and backed away. “Though I haven't really figured out how to wash off before people enter the spring—I have a few wash buckets, that's it. Maybe Vesemir has an extra tub somewhere? I can bring it down here as a sort of rinse station... though, I'd have to find a place to empty the dirty water.” Jaskier bit his lip. He wanted to bathe with Geralt tonight, but the state of the man, he'd have to hand scrub all the mud off before he entered the spring.

“No need.” Geralt started taking off his clothes. His boots hit the floor with a heavy squelch, and he threw the rest of his clothes on top. Laundry basket—Jaskier needed one of those as well.

Now naked, he was still muddy and a little bloody, the dirt caked onto his skin in streaks. “What the fuck are you doing?” Jaskier shrieked. He put himself between Geralt and the pool, but he knew it wouldn't do any good, if Geralt wanted to move through him, Jaskier's body provided no more resistance than a stiff wind.

Geralt smirked at him. “In here all day and you didn't test the water?”

He squeaked when Geralt entered the pool. Dirt flaked off him into the water and floated away into nothing. Where Jaskier expected rivers of mud befouling the healing mineral water, there was nothing: no sheen of oil floating across the surface, no blood stains sticking to the rocks. Now that he thought about it, Jaskier had never seen such a pristine hot spring. He put it down to lack of heavy use since the castle was ruined, the spring had time to rejuvenate itself, but something more was at work here.

Geralt dunked himself under and emerged free of grime, leaving no trace in the water either. “How?” Jaskier asked. It took all his will not to let his mouth drop open in shock.

Geralt chuckled and stood up, the water reaching a little above his waist. “The spring is blessed. The way Vesemir tells it, the first mages who created Witchers used water from this spring in their potions. They had to make sure it didn't loose it's mineral properties, so they blessed it to keep it as fresh as the first day they discovered it.” He scratched more mud from his scalp and it disappeared into the water. “Nothing can befoul it.”

Jaskier took a deep breath. All day, he'd worked tirelessly to make the spring a beautiful and calming, almost magical place for the residents of Kaer Morhen to come rest, only to find out that it was already fucking magical. Literally.

He shook his head to himself. “I guess my work load just got cut in half.” He planned to fool around with Geralt in this spring when it was truly ready, and Jaskier guessed it was ready now, so he stripped his clothes and went to climb in, Geralt's eyes tracing his every movement like a hungry wolf stalking its prey.

As soon as his feet touched the water, Geralt grabbed a hold of his ankle and pulled him in. Jaskier didn't have time to cry out, strong arms were already holding him tight. “Bastard,” he hissed.

“You enjoy it.” Geralt pressed their lips together and Jaskier tasted the minerals carried through the mountain rocks. Hot spring water wasn't particularly tasty, but Geralt's lips were, so Jaskier pressed on, deepening the kiss and licking into Geralt's mouth. One of the hands around his back moved downwards, caressing his ass and giving a bit of a squeeze. Jaskier's hips bucked in return, grinding their cocks together.

“I hoped for a romp after dinner,” Jaskier said.

“Mmm.” Geralt chased his lips, kissing him again and again. “We can do that too.”

He wrapped one arm around Jaskier's back, holding him firm on the slippery rocks, and pushed the other between them, taking hold of both of them. Geralt's hand was large enough to just barely wrap around them both and Jaskier sighed in pleasure. This was the first time he had a chance to enjoy all the hard work he put in today. Yes, Geralt had a hard day's work as well, but he was used to it. After days and days of difficult chores and exhaustion, Jaskier felt he could finally rest, let Geralt take care of their pleasure.

The door crashed open, slamming against the wall, making Jaskier jump, almost slipping from Geralt's arms like a bar of soap. “Is the spring ready?” Lambert grunted. “Geralt said you were doing something, making it pretty... whatever. Are you done yet?”

Jaskier tried to turn and answer the (somewhat demanding) questions, but Geralt held firm, his hand still touching Jaskier's less than fully stiff cock. “Ignore him,” Geralt whispered in his ear. “Let's go over to the corner, leave him to it.”

“What? No!” Jaskier wiggled away from Geralt, now fully flaccid, the sexy atmosphere gone. “I'm sorry, Geralt, I'm not...” he eyed Lambert, who was still staring at them, “I don't think I can _perform_ with someone else here,” he whispered. He knew full well Lambert heard him, there was just something about the admission that made Jaskier want to at least pretend to keep it between him and Geralt.

Lambert snorted and Geralt glared at him like he wished a sticky death on the other wolf. “Better get over that quick.” He started pulling off his equally muddy clothes, dropping them on top of Geralt's. “We're stuck together for months. In a few weeks, the mountain will be impassable, no where to go.” He slid into the water and sighed at the heat. “Geralt has walked in on me and my guests before. It's part of the fun. Besides.” Sharp yellow eyes smiled nastily at Jaskier. “I thought bards were attention whores? Don't you like an audience?”

“There's a difference between walking in on someone, and you fucking your _guest_ in the middle of a corridor,” Geralt snarled. He reached for Jaskier and thankfully, the bard came, allowing Geralt to wrap his arms around him again. He pulled them over to the side of the pool and fetched a bath sheet for Jaskier. He'd never known the man to be modest, but he supposed in a new surrounding, with Lambert being a fucking asshole, it made sense. He'd get more information out of him later.

Jaskier climbed out of the bath and quickly covered himself. Geralt had no such modesty and stood in front of Lambert, mineral water dripping over his sculpted body, his cock hanging half hard against his thigh. Lambert pinched his lips together and Geralt smirked. Oh yes, the reminder was definitely needed. They all knew Geralt was the strongest, the largest, more powerful in so many ways. The training and lives they led gave each Witcher his own sort of gifts—Eskel was better with Signs than anyone Geralt had ever met, and Lambert, with his sharp tongue and easy temper, was better at both talking and fighting his way out of situations—but out of the lot of them, Geralt had the most gifts. He was stronger, faster, tougher, lasted longer while injured, and he could best Eskel and Lambert in a fight, possibly both together on a good day. Lambert should know better than to mess with Geralt's bard. If he didn't... well, it was going to be a hard lesson he had to learn this winter, but he would learn it.

Lambert didn't say another word and Geralt figured he got the message. “Dinner should be soon,” he said, returning his attention to Jaskier. “We can have a proper bath later.”

Bath sheet wrapped tight around him, Jaskier got dressed, then picked up Geralt's soiled clothes. His skin was still a little damp and he shivered out in the hall. Geralt—naked and dripping—gave no care for the chill and pulled Jaskier close, heat radiating off of him.

Back up in their room, Geralt bolted the door and swept Jaskier into his arms. “You are not a shy man. What's changed?” As usual, Geralt used what few words he spoke to cut right through to the matter at heart.

Jaskier tried to look away, but those beautiful eyes pinned him in place, compelling his answer. “I can feel at home in any room. The life of a bard, you know, I can make myself fit in anywhere. But this place... Geralt,” he shook his head, “I am a man among gods here. While I'm comfortable in your arms... I've never had gods watch me have sex. It'll take some, uh, adjustment.”

Geralt sighed deeply and rested their foreheads together. “Whatever you do, do not tell Lambert you once called him a god. He will never let any of us forget it.” That managed to get a small giggle out of Jaskier.

“Despite the size, Kaer Morhen is intimate, in some ways. If the bedroom is the privacy you need, that's fine, I won't enjoy my winter any less. However...” he bit lightly at Jaskier's neck, making him shiver at the sudden affection, “I had hoped to fuck you in the armory at least once.”

“I'll get used to it,” Jaskier promised. And he would, no one could say he wasn't adaptable. “Give me a little bit to settle in? Once I get used to other yellow eyes on my ass, you can fuck me anywhere you want.”

Geralt's wolf smile spread across his face. “Good.” He released Jaskier with one last kiss. “Let's get dressed. I want to get to dinner first, make sure Lambert only has scraps to choose from.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to look up how natural hot springs clean themselves, I really did, but all I got were rules of etiquette, which is definitely not what I wanted, so I copped out and now the water is blessed. Fight me.
> 
> While I love some soft Geralt, I also love some good old asshole Witchers. Everything smooths out soon, but since I don't have any actual plot, there has to be a hint of conflict :) Thanks to everyone who's read so far.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, Jaskier got used to the new close quarters. After a week or so, he didn't even flinch when someone walked into the bath while he and Geralt were together. He didn't make a show of it like Geralt—moans getting louder, thrusting wilder, tossing his hair back, the exhibitionist—but he didn't shy away anymore. It was his hot spring too, for the time being, and he was going to damn well enjoy it.
> 
> Most of the time, they weren't having sex at all when Eskel or Lambert walked in. Most days, Jaskier was simply tending to Geralt. Washing his hair, or lovingly rubbing his back and shoulders, the normal ways he cared for his Witcher. The others seemed to find this more upsetting than walking in on them having sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we take a real turn, so get ready, folks, lots of sex and lots of soft romance coming up (yes, I can have both at the same time, they go well together).
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please let me know if you find one. Enjoy :)

With the work of setting up the castle mostly finished and only a few daily chores to keep up with, everyone settled into a sort of routine. In the morning, Geralt and Jaskier made love in their bedroom, still half asleep and warmed by sheets and the fire. After they were both awake and sated, Geralt headed out to train with the others and Jaskier puttered around, usually in the dining hall, sometimes in the hot spring. While he did love the spring, the heat inside wasn't tolerable for long stretches of work, and he found it easier to make his soaps and balms in the dining hall, with it's large working tables and ample light.

Most days, Geralt floated in for lunch and kissed Jaskier's neck, sniffing whatever he was working on that afternoon, then they'd spend time in the spring before dinner, and while away the rest of the night drinking and playing games with the others, or they'd find some discrete corner of Kaer Morhen to, uh... consecrate, with their seed. Privately, Jaskier thought Geralt wanted to have sex in every habitable room in the castle, save the bedrooms, but with Lambert's behavior... well, Jaskier might follow Geralt for a romp in the man's bed just to teach him a lesson.

He never challenged Jaskier or Geralt again, not directly, but Lambert was not shy about sharing his thoughts, specifically, his thoughts about Jaskier.

No matter where he was working, Lambert would pass by and sneer, tossing in a few cutting words. “That's an awful lot of oil for one winter. Suppose Geralt needs to get his money's worth out of you.” “He says you're a bard. I haven't heard you play once. Or is your true instrument below the belt?” “Shy little larks never do well in the mountains, you should be careful.”

Mostly, Jaskier ignored him. He never did it around Geralt (probably on purpose) and Jaskier didn't think to mention it. The last thing he wanted to do this winter was instigate the death of another Witcher, for there was no doubt in his mind, if Lambert went too far, Geralt might very well kill him.

Eskel was a different sort of challenge. He didn't directly poke at Jaskier the way Lambert did, he mostly... watched. Sat in corners, pretending to read, but actually staring, watching Jaskier for... some reason. But if that's all he had to deal with from Eskel, he'd take it.

Vesemir left the whole situation alone. When he heard Lambert's little comments, he grunted or glared at the other Witcher, but stayed out of it. Jaskier was glad for that, it wasn't Vesemir's fight, it was his, for some fucking reason.

The old wolf was the easiest for him to understand. His prickliness from the first few days quickly disappeared as soon as he realized Jaskier wasn't here to spill their secrets. He blamed himself for that, of course, one too many songs about Geralt, and Vesemir had to think his lips were loose. Vesemir accepted his presence first, regarding him at dinner, even starting deep conversations with Jaskier while the others cheated at cards.

Slowly, Jaskier got used to the new close quarters. After a week or so, he didn't even flinch when someone walked into the bath while he and Geralt were together. He didn't make a show of it like Geralt—moans getting louder, thrusting wilder, tossing his hair back, the exhibitionist—but he didn't shy away anymore. It was his hot spring too, for the time being, and he was going to damn well enjoy it.

Most of the time, they weren't having sex at all when Eskel or Lambert walked in. Most days, Jaskier was simply tending to Geralt. Washing his hair, or lovingly rubbing his back and shoulders, the normal ways he cared for his Witcher. The others seemed to find this more upsetting than walking in on them having sex. Once, when Geralt let out a particularly rough grunt as Jaskier worked at the knots in his back, Lambert made a noise like he'd been stabbed, and slipped in the water, landing hard on the stone bench.

“Are you... alright?” Lambert asked. His eyes darted from Geralt, to Jaskier, trying to figure out how the bard managed to hurt the White Wolf.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted out. “Oh, yes, Jaskier, right there...”

Jaskier did end up dragging a larger wash tub into the cave to rinse and shave Geralt before letting him in the pool, magic water be damned, there were rules to a hot spring and he'd make Geralt follow them if it killed them both. The chore of emptying the dirty water was still there, until one day, while washing Geralt's hair, he mumbled, “You know there's a drainage room in the back? The little door behind the storage area. There's a grate in the floor.”

Jaskier paused, his hands covered in soap, tangled in Geralt's hair. “I didn't go back there. I thought I'd open a door, find myself standing at some destroyed part of the castle, and fall to my death down the mountain.”

“Hmm.” That definitely sounded like something that might happen to Jaskier. “I'll help you empty the water later.”

“Thank you.” Pleased to find a better solution than taking buckets of water through the castle, Jaskier went back to massaging Geralt's scalp, letting the calming lavender in the soap soothe him after a long morning of sparring with the others.

One day, Eskel walked in while Jaskier was shaving the hair on Geralt's neck. His winter beard was coming in, but neck stubble was unattractive and Geralt agreed to let him maintain his beard—which began with Jaskier needling him to buy a proper shaving kit, knives were _not_ appropriate tools for beard maintenance. There they were, razor in Jaskier's hand, Geralt's throat bared, when Eskel opened the door. Jaskier's hand didn't falter at the surprise, not a tremor. Eskel stared at them, mouth falling open for a second before he ran back out.

“What was all that about?” Jaskier asked when they were done shaving and about to dip into the spring.

“Have you ever seen a wolf bare its neck?” Geralt's eyes glittered in the low light of the cave and he pulled Jaskier in close, kissing across his adam's apple. “I don't think he understood how much I trust you. It's a lot for Eskel to take in.”

There were a few more incidents like that, where Eskel or Lambert saw them in an _emotionally_ intimate situation. The other wolves clearly didn't know what to make of it and said nothing. Jaskier carried on bathing and washing Geralt's hair, it wasn't his problem.

Until it was.

After about a fortnight, it all came to a head. Snow started to fall more regularly, and Vesemir declared the way down impassable for the remainder of winter. They were finally trapped together, well and truly locked inside the drafty old castle, whether they liked it or not.

Like usual, Jaskier set up his things in the dining hall, spread across an empty table. Eskel curled into the corner by the fire with a book, and Lambert sat on the other side of the room, sharpening a very large amount of swords. Geralt swept into the hall and dropped a kiss on Jaskier's neck. He cooed, and Lambert grumbled something under his breath.

“Oh, Geralt.” Abandoning his work for a moment, Jaskier dug inside his ingredient bag and produced a coarse brush. “I forgot, I bought Roach a new brush before we met up. It fell to the bottom of my bag.”

He sat next to Jaskier on the bench, his fingers trailing up and down his spine almost absently. “She'll like that. Why don't you give her a nice grooming tomorrow? There won't be a lot of room for her to exercise for a while, we should treat her for the time being.”

Across the room, Lambert let out a loud bark of laughter, and a shiver ran down Jaskier's spine, cold, definitely not from Geralt's warm touch. “Geralt lets you touch his horse? Pussy whipped much?” Geralt growled. It was the first time Lambert decided to attack Geralt with his off hand comments about their relationship. It made Jaskier's blood boil. They were supposed to be brothers, and this is how he reacted when Geralt had a new friend?

He laughed again at the growl. “What? He smells like a woman.”

“Smells like a whore,” Eskel said calmly from his seat by the fire. He turned a page of his book, but his attention was clearly on the fight building between the other two.

“Stay the fuck out of this!” Geralt shouted, the rumbling growl laced through his words like rocks sliding down a mountain.

“Ha! Good one!” Lambert laughed. “Really, how many scents does a bard need? He'll smell like blood and shit the same as the rest of us when he dies.”

A thunderous roar ripped out of Geralt's chest. He stood up so fast, he almost overturned the bench and Jaskier had to catch himself on the table. “What the fuck is this, Lambert? If you have something to say, you fucking say it.”

“I thought I was pretty clear. You bring a whore as your guest and you don't expect me to treat him like one?”

Geralt exhaled hard through his nose and Jaskier almost thought he saw steam coming out. “At least I'm not the one who brought a gods damn Griffin to stay, and fucked him all over the castle! I hated that winter, couldn't avoid your pale ass if I tried.”

Lambert climbed to his feet, sword in hand. “Some of us like the other schools. There are so few of us left, why shouldn't I befriend a brother from another school? It's better than the bard who sings lies about us! He makes you soft, Geralt, we can all see it. Too soft and it'll ruin you.”

Rage poured off Geralt, his hands balled into fists, muscles twitching. “You don't like the company I bring? Keep it to your fucking self. But if you want to test if I've gone soft, then hand me a sword.”

Jaw twitching, Lambert grabbed another sword off the table and threw it at Geralt, who deftly snatched it out of the air, didn't even flinch. The hilt wasn't angled down like he preferred on his sword, but Jaskier had seen Geralt fight with many different weapons, and many different swords, if he wanted to, Geralt could make a bucket dangerous, he was a master of his craft.

The two stepped into the empty area of the hall and started circling each other. Lambert lunged first, aiming straight for Geralt's heart. With a deft side step, Geralt deflected the blade and returned the strike, hitting Lambert across the shoulder with the flat of his blade. Lambert growled, and lunged again, only for Geralt to deflect once more.

Jaskier clapped his hands over his mouth to keep from crying out. He'd seen Geralt fight many, many times, and he always prevailed. But against another Witcher? This was an unknown battle for Jaskier, and he didn't like it.

Their steps were so similar, the way they circled around each other before thrusting forward, only to retreat again, it was obvious they trained under the same master. But Geralt knew he was better. He exchanged a few more blows, always striking Lambert with the flat of his blade, not enough to bruise, just enough to embarrass. The only sounds in the hall were the scraping of swords and Lambert's increasingly angry growls. Finally, Geralt decided to end it. Surging forward, he deflected a strike and wrapped his free arm around Lambert's sword arm, taking him off guard. He smashed Lambert's nose with his forehead, making the man stagger back. One quick sweep to his leg and it was all over, Lambert fell and splayed out on the stone floor, sword falling from his hand with a clatter.

Geralt loomed over him and pressed the very tip of his blade to his neck, not hard enough to break the skin. He raised one eyebrow in silent question and Lambert closed his eyes, answering without words.

The tension in the air dissolved as quickly as it had gathered. The fight was over, argument settled, and everyone seemed to understand it. Even Jaskier felt something change.

Geralt reached down and helped Lambert to his feet, stepping in close to press their foreheads together. Their eyes fell closed and all was calm again. Lambert sighed and his lips moved, too quiet for Jaskier to pick up, but he was sure the others heard it. Geralt let out a whisper of breath and said something... again, Jaskier didn't catch it. Perhaps he wasn't supposed to.

Pulling apart, Geralt returned to Jaskier's side and sat down. Lambert went back to sharpening what looked like every sword in the castle. No one said a word until Vesemir announced dinner.

And then, everything went back to normal. Or, the normal it was supposed to be, no more snide comments, no more glares in Jaskier's direction. Dinner was served and they all ate, talking about nothing in particular. After dinner, Eskel pulled out a pack of cards to try and win back the money he lost the night before. Jaskier didn't question it, lest he break the spell Geralt cast over them.

When they went up to bed, Jaskier finally asked. “What happened down there? I saw it, but I don't understand it. You beat him and that's it? Problem solved?”

“Hmm,” Geralt considered for a moment, trying to find the words to explain his brothers to Jaskier. “Not problem solved. Lambert might come speak to you soon. He won't apologize the way you understand it, but it will mean the same. More like... they see now.” Those gold eyes flashed up at him and a shiver ran though Jaskier, despite the warm fire and warmer Geralt wrapped around him. Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier's cheek and he tried not to lean into the touch, no need to distract during the important conversation. “They see my... feeling, for you, doesn't make me weak.

“All the feeling in Eskel's life hasn't gone well for him, and Lambert is young, hot headed. He hasn't seen as much of the world as I have. He's become accustomed to the harsh parts of it.” He continued stroking Jaskier's face, drawing no attention to the tears welling in those blue eyes. “He still buys into the lie we helped spread—Witchers don't let ourselves feel because emotions make you weak.” His hand stilled and he watched one fat tear roll down Jaskier's cheek before wiping it away. “Remember, I decided to let go of the bad memories here. I don't think Lambert has. He's the last link in a broken chain, he doesn't want to see any more of us fall.”

Jaskier was openly weeping now. He squeezed his eyes shut, more tears rolling from the corners, and pushed his face into Geralt's chest. He heard that slow, achingly broken heart beating and imagined Lambert carrying those same traumas alone. “You're all so...”

“Broken?”

Jaskier shook his head. “No, not broken. I've seen you broken, you pull yourself right back together, and I'm sure the others do as well. You're all in so much pain. I want to make it stop.” Even for just a little while, Jaskier wanted—no—he _needed_ to heal the Witchers of Kaer Morhen. If it was the last thing he did this winter, he would make them all feel less monstrous, even for one moment.

“You have the rest of winter to try,” Geralt said.

“Accepted.”

~

It was all fine and good wanting to be a positive change in someone's life, but that someone had to want your help. And, Jaskier had to have the faintest idea of what to do for Lambert. It was a challenge, to be sure, but he could crack it.

Before Jaskier had even started to ponder what to do next, Lambert came to him. Sat in the evening hall, Jaskier had his scents and bottles of oils all spread out over a table. He'd just unpacked his large block of soap, trying to decide how to cut it, when the hall door opened and Lambert walked straight towards him.

His nose wrinkled at all the perfumes and smells in front of Jaskier, but he said nothing about it. “Why are you in here?” he asked.

“I thought...” Jaskier was not ready for this. Geralt hadn't explained what form Lambert's not-really-an-apology would take, and he suddenly didn't want to find out. “After the other night, I thought I'd work in here. Do the smells still bother you from here? I can go back to my, uh, Geralt's room. Try and work there.”

“No.” A strange wave moved across Lambert's face, not quite a scowl, not quite a smile. His jaw tightened and he bit his tongue for a moment. “Why do you have all those scents? Truly.”

“Before Geralt and I made our way here, I was at the court in Redania. Court is boring, as you can probably guess, and I told Geralt I'd make him some soaps and an oil for his beard when he grows it out. I started collecting natural oils for scenting the soap.” He gestured to the row of bottles in front of him. “I don't have many fresh ingredients right now, which is a pity. I'll make do with what I have.”

Lambert's brows drew together as he looked at Jaskier's ingredients. “How do you add the scents?”

“Ah, well, I knew I wouldn't want to carry lye up a fucking mountain, so...” With a flourish of his hand, Jaskier pointed to the large brick of soap on the table. “I made it back in Redania. I figured if I cut it into smaller bars and melted it down to add the scents, that would be so much easier than making a whole new batch here.”

“Hmm.” Lambert's nose twitched. “We're all very sensitive to smells. You know not to add too much, right?”

“Yes.” Trying to keep the sarcasm from his voice was Jaskier's finest performance yet. If this was Lambert's apology—showing an interest in Jaskier beyond snide comments—he had to be receptive. Don't snap the olive branch in half before it's even fully extended. “I've made a few things for Geralt, he's never said it was too much.” Jaskier shrugged. “Most times, I can't smell them very well, I only get a hint, the scents are so subtle, but he likes it, which means I like it.”

“You can't smell them? Then how do you know which one is which when you're done?”

“I label them.” Jaskier rummaged in his bag and pulled out the brown paper he used to wrap the soap, and a few blank jars for oils and balms. “I know labeling is a concept Witchers are unfamiliar with, but it works for me.” Jaskier almost bit his tongue as soon as the words left his lips. Did he just make fun of Lambert while the man was trying to apologize? He hated his quick wit, sometimes, it got him into far too much trouble.

A hearty laugh erupted from Lambert's chest and Jaskier relaxed a little. “Too true, too true. That's how we're taught: learn your potions by the color and the shape of the bottle. Grab the wrong one too many times, and you're dead. Gives the memorization more weight.” A stone of sadness settled in Jaskier's gut, but Lambert was still smiling.

He looked over all of Jaskier's ingredients again and nodded. “I see why this might be... I understand why Geralt likes this. From you.” He stepped back. “I'll leave you to your work.”

Jaskier didn't know what to say, which was rare for him. So he decided to be polite: “Thank you for coming by.”

Lambert nodded, then stopped at the doors. “Incidentally,” he said, facing away from Jaskier, “if you want fresh ingredients, ask Vesemir. He has a greenhouse here. And an herb garden, I think. Might be useful.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier said again, for truly, a greenhouse would be full of fresh things, and he might find what he needed.

Lambert grunted and nodded again before stepping back through the doors, leaving Jaskier alone once again.

~

It only took another week or so for Jaskier to _become accustomed_ to their semi-public sex life. He wanted the hot spring to be a place for everyone to enjoy themselves, so he really couldn't be too picky when Geralt wanted to give him a blow job after a nice bath and Eskel happened to be sitting on the other side of the pool. Jaskier wouldn't call himself an exhibitionist, but he found keeping his eyes closed helped. If he happened to hear a hitched breath or the slow lapping of the water as another Witcher slid his hand between his own legs... well, he didn't say anything about that.

Geralt sat on the carved bench in the pool while Jaskier sat behind him on the edge, his legs dangling over Geralt's shoulders, only his feet in the water. He washed Geralt's hair earlier, and now he was braiding it. Geralt didn't let Jaskier do this often, they couldn't on the road, it drew too many looks, but here in Kaer Morhen, no one cared, so Jaskier got to plait Geralt's hair to his heart's content.

“Mmm,” Geralt hummed and pushed his head back into Jaskier's lap, knocking his hands away. He turned his head, nosing Jaskier's cock. When it responded, starting to fill out, Geralt turned around in the pool, kneeling on the bench and wrapping his arms around Jaskier's hips. A few more licks and touches with his lips and Geralt had a fine, hard cock in front of him. He opened his mouth and swallowed Jaskier down to the root.

Jaskier jumped a little, fingers twisting in white hair. “Geralt,” he half moaned. “I have to go meet Vesemir soon... uh, fuck. He said I could see his greenhouse.”

Geralt popped off with a sinful slurp, nosing at Jaskier's thigh, the tip of his tongue barely brushing his sac. “This won't take long.”

“Ugh, heathen.” Jaskier threw his head back and gave in, letting Geralt swallow him whole.

That far too talented tongue rolled across the head of Jaskier's cock, and teased his foreskin. He tangled his fingers deeper in Geralt's hair, tugging a little to urge him on. But all too soon, it wasn't enough for Geralt. He released Jaskier's cock and nodded to the floor behind them. “Lay back.”

Jaskier did as asked, opening his knees and— “Oh,” he whispered. With Geralt in the pool, well, that brought Jaskier's hole to the exact perfect height, now didn't it? “Geralt...”

If Geralt felt Lambert's heavy eyes on them, he didn't say a word about it, carrying on like he normally would when his goal was to take Jaskier apart. He hooked one of Jaskier's legs over his shoulder and stuck two fingers in his mouth, coating them with saliva. Sure, there was oil lying not two feet away, but this was faster.

“Stroke yourself,” he said as fingers slowly pushed inside Jaskier. “Slow.” Jaskier made a little gasping noise, then did as asked, fingers starting at the base of his cock, drawing all the way up, before drifting back down again, slow and feather light. His breath hitched when Geralt thrust inside of him and he wanted to go faster... but he held himself back.

Geralt ran his nose up the inside of Jaskier's thigh, nipping at the tender skin before moving up. He paused a moment to lick Jaskier's balls, relishing the heavy musk there. No matter how much they bathed, Jaskier could never get rid of that smell, the one Geralt loved so very much, like salt and a hint of summer sun, it was the very essence of Jaskier.

Fingers still moving at a slow, steady pace, Jaskier was quickly falling apart. His toes gripped the smooth rock floor, trying to find purchase to thrust up into his own hand, chest heaving. “Geralt, fuck, Geralt _please_ ,” he whined.

“Mmm...” Geralt considered for a moment. “You can go faster.” Jaskier's strokes sped up but Geralt's thrusting fingers stayed the same, gently pushing inside a more and more desperate body. It was both too much and not enough at the same time, leaving Jaskier walking a tight rope he desperately wanted to fall off of, but found himself tied to. All he needed was a little push.

That push came a moment later when Geralt's tongue slid in next to his fingers. The extra stretch, the sensation of a wet tongue next to firm fingers, he didn't know exactly what did it, but Jaskier jerked hard and came. Come shot over his stomach as Geralt gave a few final thrusts with his fingers, he'd go as long as Jaskier wanted him to.

A shiver ran through Jaskier and he tried to scoot away, suddenly too sensitive. Geralt climbed out of the spring and ran his tongue across Jaskier's stomach, tasting bitter salt and sated exhaustion. Though he was overstimulated, Jaskier let Geralt do as he pleased. It was a little ritual of his—he like to lap up their spend like it was honey—he never told Jaskier why, and at this point, he didn't really care.

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned when Geralt finished and slid back into the pool. “Now I have to see Vesemir smelling like you just fucked me.”

“Hmm, it's almost like that was the point.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet. “Of course it was.” He splashed a little water on himself to clean away the last of the stickiness, then got dressed. Geralt had gone back to lounging in the water, but he knew there was a deliciously hard cock lingering just under the water's surface. “I'll return the favor before dinner.”

“Mmm.” Jaskier brushed a kiss against Geralt's shoulder, then left, closing the door behind him.

It took exactly fifteen seconds to walk across the evening hall and into the corridor, out of ear shot of what might be said in the hot spring. Lambert only got to eight before blurting out: “Can I borrow the bard?”

Geralt sighed, saying goodbye to the rest of his calming soak, then opened his eyes. Lambert sat pressed into the opposite corner of the spring, both his hands on the ledge behind him, arms shaking a little with the effort not to touch himself after all that.

“He's not a book, Lambert, or a sword, I can't _lend_ him to you.”

“I—” Lambert pressed his lips together. “I don't want to fuck him. I want—” he cut himself off again.

Geralt waited. They were both stubborn, they'd wait until the end of time for the other to break the silence, and Geralt currently had all winter to kill.

Lambert broke first. “The way he touches you. When he bathes you... massages your shoulders. That. I want that.” He looked away from Geralt, but not from embarrassment. His eyes traced the jagged scars covering his arms, covering most of his body, the marks of a Witcher's trade. “He's not... afraid of you. When he touches you.

“When I pay someone, they're always...” Lambert's teeth snapped together, trying to find the right words. “You can smell the disgust on them, the fear. Your ba—Jaskier—he doesn't smell like that.”

“No, he's not afraid of me. He might be afraid of you, after how you've treated him.” Geralt saw how difficult these words were for Lambert to say, but he wasn't about to forget the insults and biting words he threw at Jaskier.

“I made that right.”

“Yes, he told me.”

The day Lambert spoke to Jaskier, the bard bounded up to the room and told him everything: “Oh it was so adorable, Geralt, you should have seen it. He asked why I had so many scents, and he really meant it, he wasn't just being an ass again. So I told him and he seemed... not interested, but the said he saw why you liked me!”

“Never tell Lambert you called him adorable. That's probably worse than calling him a god.”

Silence spread between them until Lambert couldn't take it any more. “I don't know what it feels like, when people aren't afraid of me.” His eyes were still staring at his own scars, remembering where they all came from, every bloody fight with too small a reward. And for what? Scorn in the eyes of the world? “Please, Geralt.”

It took a lot for Lambert to actually ask for what he wanted and Geralt nodded to himself. “Ask him. If he says no, that's the end of it, I won't have you bother him again.”

“If I ask him, he'll just come talk to you,” Lambert grumbled.

“Then I will tell him it's his choice. Sound fair?”

With a stiff nod, Lambert agreed to Geralt's terms, which were to accept the bard's terms. This was all too complicated, it's why none of them should deal with humans. But Lambert held his tongue and let an arm slide into the water, fingers wrapping around his cock.

Geralt leaned back and closed his eyes. “Do you want me to give you some privacy?”

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I was writing a fic about a bunch of people (essentially) trapped inside together when the world is trapped inside. That wasn't the plan, just a very odd coincidence.
> 
> Before I got tired of the mommy blogs, I did see that traditional soap can be melted down to add more scents, so that's what I went with. I've only ever made glycerin soap in Girl Scouts, never worked with lye, and I've read Fight Club a few times, this is the sum of my knowledge. If any of my details sound off, just let me know and I can tweak. Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Lambert,” Geralt asked, his eyes still on Jaskier. “How long has it been?”
> 
> Lambert drew in a shaking breath, leaning into Jaskier's touch. “Since last winter.”
> 
> Realization dawned and Jaskier almost dropped the soap into the bath. “No one's touched you all year?” Jaskier recognized those sounds now, they were the same ones Geralt made the first time they kissed. Like a beaten animal shown kindness for the first time, Geralt grabbed at Jaskier, smashing their lips together to get more, more, more. Had he known they were all like this...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just got all three Witcher games on Steam for US $20, so I'm quite pleased with myself right now.
> 
> I've tried to keep everything vaguely middle ages (I know there are some anachronistic things in the books, but it all looks Euro middle ages, it's as good a bench mark as any) but after using the word "soap" about thirteen million times, I broke and Jaskier also has some shampoo now. Shampoo didn't reach Europe until like late 1700's... eh, I'm over it now. I wrote a song for this chapter, please be kind, I'm very proud of it.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please let me know and I'll fix any typos I missed. Please enjoy :)

“Geralt! There you are.”

Geralt didn't lift his eyes from the rack of swords he was looking through, he just extended one arm and Jaskier came to his side, snuggling in close. He swore there was another sword around here with the hilt angled down like the one he carried. During their training this morning, Eskel asked him for a few tips, he wanted to add more versatility to his fighting style and Geralt was the perfect person to ask, though they all trained under the same master, Geralt went the furthest making his style his own. If only they had a second copy of his sword to practice with, but it appeared they were all destroyed...

“What happened with Lambert?” he asked, searching another rack, pulling Jaskier along with him.

He heard the pout cross Jaskier's face. “Of course he asked you first. Well, then you know what he asked me.”

“Yes, but I really want to know _how_ he asked you.” While Geralt wasn't cruel enough to say it to Lambert's face, the thought of the other Witcher trying to put words to emotions was hilarious. When Geralt first started communicating how he felt, Jaskier heaped praise on him for about a week straight, then proceeded to call him “adorable.” Jaskier was alive to tell the tale, so he probably didn't do that to Lambert.

“It was very sweet, actually,” Jaskier said. “He caught me outside the evening hall and asked if I could do for him what I do for you. Naturally, I assumed he wanted sex and was going to tell him I'm really not a whore, but he started describing how I rub your shoulders and wash your hair. Finally, he just blurted out: I want you to touch me. In the hot spring.” He nuzzled Geralt's neck, pleased to smell the light pine fragrance of the balm he made for the other man. “I said yes, but I want you there. Is that alright?”

Geralt stopped his perusal of the armory for a moment and wrapped both arms around Jaskier, kissing him softly and running a hand down his chest. “Yes, of course it's alright.” There wasn't an ugly stray mongrel in all the Continent that Jaskier would turn down, and there was never any doubt in Geralt's mind that he'd help Lambert find a tiny sliver of happiness. “When are we to meet him?”

“Tonight, a few hours before dinner.”

“Fine.” Geralt kissed Jaskier again, his lips traveling down over his jaw and neck. He meant it to be a few simple kisses, but Jaskier smelled so fucking good, like lavender and a bit of honey, and all his scents mixed together from working with them. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a clear work table. “Jaskier,” he mumbled into his neck. “Do you have any oil on you?”

“Ugh,” Jaskier groaned. “Fine, we can fuck in the armory. Bolt the door at least, I don't want to get stabbed in surprise.”

“Mmm, just on purpose.”

~

A few hours later, Geralt and Jaskier went to the spring. Jaskier stripped down to his small clothes—it was too hot to work in his breeches, but he didn't want to give Lambert the wrong idea by stripping completely. Geralt, however, had no such scruples and quickly took off all his clothes, throwing them in the laundry basket and sliding into the water. Eskel lay across a rock on the other side of the spring, his eyes closed. Jaskier never assumed a sleeping Witcher was actually asleep, but if he wanted a rest, that was fine. At least Vesemir wasn't here to watch Jaskier awkwardly tend to Lambert like the man hadn't spent the last three weeks calling him a whore.

No, he couldn't think like that. Lambert showed real bravery and vulnerability asking Jaskier for this favor, he had to be kind about it. Jaskier took a moment to check over his stock of oils, balms, and soaps, the ritual of sniffing them all to find the perfect match for Lambert helped put him in a positive state of mind. He was here to make Lambert feel good, taken care of and loved. And maybe, if he was lucky, Jaskier could undo some of the damage the world had done to him.

The door creaked open and Lambert walked in, then immediately groaned. “Fuck, Eskel, this isn't a spectator sport.” Eskel hummed and rolled over to face the wall. Lambert's jaw twitched but he walked into the spring and started stripping. “Good enough,” he grunted.

His hands stilled at the ties of his breeches, and for the first time, Lambert met Jaskier's eyes. “Uh, how do you... how do we do this?”

Jaskier smiled. “You can undress to your comfort level. Don't think about me, this is about you.”

Something about that answer didn't satisfy and he turned to Geralt. “What are you good with?”

Geralt sighed, but didn't open his eyes. “Fucking take it all off, it doesn't matter. And stop asking _my_ permission. Ask Jaskier.”

“Right. Uh...” He turned back to Jaskier but his hands didn't move, breeches still tied closed.

“Lambert, whatever you are comfortable with,” Jaskier said. He kept his smile up, he had to make this a positive experience. “Your breeches might be too hot in a moment, but if you want to leave your small clothes—that's fine. If you want to take them off, that's fine too. Or, I have a bath sheet to drape over you, if that's better.”

Lambert glanced at the pile of bath sheets and made his decision. He unlaced his breeches and pulled them off, standing stark naked in front of Jaskier. It was nothing he hadn't seen before, they'd all spent hours lounging in the spring this season and stray glances happened, but the context had changed, now, Jaskier was about to touch the body in front of him, not just look at it. So far, the only Witcher he'd bathed was Geralt. Here's hoping his technique transferred.

He pointed Lambert to the wash tub, then filled several buckets with water from the spring. The first few, Jaskier used to fill the tub, then he poured the last two over Lambert directly, wetting his hair as well. Lambert scowled, but didn't say a word.

Once the tub had a good amount of water in it, Lambert leaned back. “I guess this is alright... I never liked filling my own baths.”

“Oh, we're just getting started. Which one do you like?” Jaskier held two soaps in front of him. Keeping his eyes on the bard, Lambert leaned forward to sniff at the first. The lavender and mint didn't please him, so he tried the next one. A sharp but pleasant smell tickled his nose and Lambert took a deeper sniff.

“Oranges?”

Jaskier's face lit up. “Yes! I used orange peel in this one. Do you like it?”

He did, he liked it more than he thought he would. But he couldn't let the bard know that. He gave Jaskier a curt nod and leaned back. “It'll do.”

Happy he found a scent Lambert liked, Jaskier set to the real work. He dipped a cloth in the water before working up a lather with the soap, the light scent of oranges bloomed through the air and Jaskier saw Lambert start to relax. It wasn't much, just the unclenching of his jaw and shoulders, but it was more than he thought he'd get this early on.

The second the soapy cloth touched his skin, a deep, growling moan fell from Lambert's lips. He leaned forward in the tub, hands gripping to the sides, head dipped between his knees. Jaskier didn't dare move. “Lambert?” he asked.

“I'm fine. Keep... keep going.”

Jaskier started to scrub in small circles across Lambert's back, his free hand rubbing his shoulder a little like he usually did with Geralt. The fairly chaste touches pulled more moans and groans from him. By the time Jaskier started soaping his shoulders, the moans stopped, replaced by small tremors and shivers. Every few moments, Lambert whispered, “I'm fine, keep going.” So Jaskier kept going.

He scrubbed down Lambert's back, across his shoulders, and around his bulging arms. When he needed to get to his chest, he urged Lambert to sit up. Lambert complied, moving easily and flopping back like all the bones in his body had turned to pudding. The moans started again as Jaskier ran the soapy cloth over his chest, brushing his nipples lightly. His cock, almost as large as Geralt's (were all Witchers so blessed? Jaskier wondered) lay below the surface of the water and Jaskier firmly kept his eyes focused upwards, so he didn't know what else might be stirring inside of Lambert.

Jaskier felt a blush high on his cheeks the longer this went on, and glanced over at Geralt. Yellow eyes looked back at him, watching him work. There was no jealousy in those eyes, no anger, just the calm they'd held all winter. “Lambert,” Geralt asked, his eyes still on Jaskier. “How long has it been?”

He drew in a shaking breath, leaning into Jaskier's touch. “Since last winter.”

Realization dawned and Jaskier almost dropped the soap into the bath. “No one's touched you all year?” Jaskier recognized those sounds now, they were the same ones Geralt made the first time they kissed. Like a beaten animal shown kindness for the first time, Geralt grabbed at Jaskier, smashing their lips together to get more, more, more. Had he known they were all like this...

“Haven't had enough coin for company in a long while,” Lambert joked, but his smile started to fade. “And paid company is never as nice.”

Jaskier took a breath and changed his plan. He pulled one of the bath sheets off the pile and placed it on the floor next to the tub, kneeling on the slightly softer surface. With his free hand, he cupped Lambert's jaw, turning his face until their eyes locked. Giving him a soft smile, Jaskier started washing him again, this time, he whispered sweet, soothing words.

“When I'm done with the soap, I'll wash your hair. I have an orange and honey shampoo you might like. Do you see that bench over there? Once we're done in the tub, you can sit there and I'll massage your back as long as you need. After, you can slip into the water and let all of your tension float away. Does that sound good?”

Jaw slack under Jaskier's fingers, Lambert nodded. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Good.” Before he stood up to wash the soap off, Jaskier leaned in, pressing their foreheads together and wrapping a hand around the back of Lambert's neck. He'd seen almost every man in this castle exchange this greeting, whether it was when they first arrived, after a long morning of training together, or before they parted for bed at night. Lambert's shaking breaths evened out for a moment as he brought an arm up to hold Jaskier as well.

The moment passed and Jaskier went to retrieve his orange and honey shampoo. He rinsed the soap with another bucket and Lambert all but purred at the warm water flowing over his chest. Jaskier wet his hair again and poured a dab of the more liquid soap into his hand. The second he started to work it through the hair, Lambert hissed in pleasure, his back arching, pushing into Jaskier's hands trying to get more.

“Is it...” His breathing was ragged again. “It tingles. Is it supposed to tingle?”

Jaskier chuckled and ran a finger around the shell of Lambert's ear, producing a full body shiver. “Your body is happy to be touched, that's all.” He took extra care to massage the shampoo all over Lambert's head, running his fingers from his forehead to the back of his neck and all around his hair line, lightly scratching his scalp before rubbing his ear lobes.

Lambert shivered and shook with each touch, his back arching. Jaskier thought he heard more than one purring rumble and continued long after he would've washed the shampoo out. His hands drifted down Lambert's neck and shoulders, massaging a little, marking out a few knots to be dealt with later when he had better leverage.

“Geralt,” Lambert whispered. “Did you teach him Axii?”

Geralt chuckled, still leaning on the side of the pool, watching his brother fall apart under Jaskier's skilled hands. “No. It feels like that, though.” The all consuming want to melt under Jaskier's fingers, to bend the knee in front of him and promise to serve him for eternity as long as he never stopped touching... oh yes, Geralt knew that feeling well. And he understood how Lambert saw magic in it, Jaskier's hands might as well be magic.

Just as the pleasant tingle started to recede, Jaskier rinsed Lambert's hair. “Too much of a good thing and it'll fade,” he whispered, one hand lingering on Lambert's shoulder. “Time to get up now.”

Lambert rose from the tub like Jaskier had him on a string. With the feather light touch of one hand, he steered the Witcher over to one of the benches and sat him down. He collected one of his massage oils from his stash—plain aloe this time, not much of a smell, but good for the skin—and dripped some into his cupped hands. The first touch to his neck sent Lambert shivering again, but Jaskier expected the reaction this time. He started humming quietly as he worked on the knots plaguing Lambert's neck and shoulders, a new calm settling over the hot spring.

Jaskier looked up every once in a while to meet Geralt's eyes, and he never saw jealousy there, just the continued love and adoration Geralt let himself feel while they were safe in his home. Part of Jaskier was going to miss this the most. When they were back in the harsh world, these soft glances and touches would become rare again, reserved for when they were alone in the woods without another soul to possibly see Geralt's weakness. It wasn't weakness, not to Jaskier, but he let his Witcher come to him, always on his terms, never rushing or pushing.

He'd long ago worked out the knots and now, Jaskier was simply rubbing Lambert's back. He promised to go as long as he needed, and he'd stay true to his word. When Jaskier's fingers were starting to get sore, Lambert reached back and grabbed his hand, stilling him. “Jaskier,” he said. Lambert turned on the bench to face Jaskier and stood up, crowding in close. Jaskier wasn't a short man, he was only an inch or so shorter than Geralt, but as close as he was, Lambert seemed to take up the whole room.

He wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pulling him in and touching their foreheads together again, his cock hung only half-hard, now pressed into Jaskier's hip. Chest to chest, touching as much skin as possible, Lambert leaned in and captured his lips in a soft kiss. It wasn't chaste, oh no, not with the naked skin and fat cock inches away from Jaskier's own, but it wasn't bawdy or passionate either, it was a kiss somewhere in between all extremes.

Lambert's lips parted and his tongue darted out to touch the tip of Jaskier's before pulling back. He inhaled deeply—savoring the smell of the man who showed him such kindness—then retreated, his hands falling away from where they wrapped around Jaskier's back. Straightening up to his full height, Lambert nodded. “Thank you.” Without another word, he retrieved his clothes from the laundry basket and headed out.

Jaskier stood, half frozen, in the middle of the hot spring. He looked to Geralt, who met his eyes easily. “You want me to see if he's alright.” It wasn't a question, of course Jaskier was concerned with the mental well being of his newest project. Geralt was only surprised it took this long for Jaskier to adopt every Witcher in Kaer Morhen like a muddy puppy he found in the rain.

“Yes please.”

Geralt heaved himself out of the water and dried off. He didn't grab his clothes and walked out completely naked, still dripping a little. Jaskier sighed. For all the fuss Geralt made about the freezing cold halls of Kaer Morhen, he was very willing to walk around naked in the dead of winter.

Emotionally and physically exhausted from all the caring he just gave (the emotional support Geralt needed day to day used to sap Jaskier's strength, and now, he had Lambert reminding him of that needy, emotionally hungry time) Jaskier removed his small clothes and sank into the spring. Sometimes, he needed the hot water to soothe away his cares as well.

But apparently, the wolves of Kaer Morhen weren't done with him yet.

On his rock across the spring, Eskel stirred. Moving sleek and fluid, less like a wolf and more like a cat, he slid into the water and over to Jaskier. “So,” he said, startling Jaskier. “Here I thought I had to gauge your intentions with Geralt, and now, it's both of my brothers.”

“Oh no, Eskel, I'm not—I don't want Lambert.” Jaskier wasn't used to tripping over his words, but with those piercing yellow eyes staring at him, and Geralt probably on the next floor comforting Lambert, he was well and truly on his own. “He asked me to bathe him. I thought it would help him relax—”

Eskel cut him off. “I know what is going on here. Do you?” He got closer, caging Jaskier between his arms, making escape impossible. “A wolf does not bare its throat, not without good reason. It bares its heart even less, and now you have two of them. Are you prepared to protect what you have been given?”

The sharp glare in his eyes, Geralt's stories of Eskel and their deep bond... it all came together. Geralt loved Eskel, and Eskel returned that love, but neither of them ever said a word about it. Fucking emotionally stunted Witchers leaving their emotional baggage at Jaskier's door, it wasn't his fault they didn't know how to deal with it and he had to teach them all. Well, Jaskier was more than ready to prove he was worthy of this burden of love.

“Can I show you something?”

Eskel considered him for a second, then nodded, moving back a little to give him space. Jaskier climbed out of the water, sitting on the side of the pool. His fingers traced a long scar at his hip. It was one of only a few, so Jaskier remembered its origins well. “Geralt was on a contract, hunting a werewolf. No one in town told us the werewolf was the Lord's son and the Lord sent two of his men after us. I saw them first, Geralt was busy, as you can imagine. I tried to hold them back. It didn't go well, but they were such shit fighters, they didn't get much of me, didn't hit anything except skin and fat.

“Geralt killed the werewolf, knocked the men flat out. He shouted at me, told me I was stupid for putting myself in their way, he could handle two idiots easily. But do you know? I'd do it again. And again, and again. I've thrown myself between Geralt and a weapon more times than I can count. There's another scar on the back of my thigh. I know I'm probably an idiot, gods don't need the protection of men, but Geralt trusts me with his heart, I will not let it be hurt, not while I still breathe.” He locked eyes with Eskel, offering a challenge. “If that's not enough, I don't know what will satisfy you, but you must believe my words: I'd sooner die than hurt Geralt.”

Eskle's eyes flashed from the scar, to Jaskier, then back again. He gave a short nod and drifted back in the pool. “It'll do.” He climbed out of the water and lay down on the rock, turned away from Jaskier.

The door opened and Geralt returned to find the hot spring exactly as he'd left it.

“Lambert's fine.” Geralt slipped into the water and pulled Jaskier into his lap. He kissed up Jaskier's neck, sniffing his hair. “He's not used to...”

“Having feelings,” Jaskier supplied. Geralt grunted. “We can do it again, if it makes him feel better. Especially if it's been so long for him.”

“Mmm, we talked about that. He says he doesn't want more, but he does. And he definitely needs it.” He nipped at Jaskier's earlobe, his hand wrapping around the bard's cock. “Eskel, are you asleep?” Eskel said nothing. “Good, stay like that.” He started stroking, his other hand curled around Jaskier's back, holding him close. Jaskier moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Geralt's neck, holding on as the Witcher took care of him.

“Thank you, for seeing to Lambert,” Geralt whispered in Jaskier's ear, his lips brushing his earlobe. “I know it takes a lot out of you, taking care of me, washing me, loving me. I can't tell you how happy I was to watch you give Lambert the same love. And you give it so easily, Jaskier, sometimes I think you might run out of love, but you are endless.” Jaskier held tighter to Geralt, shaking a little in his arms with each whispered word.

Soon enough, Geralt ran out of words—he was never as good with them as Jaskier and didn't try to be—and started blowing small, warm breaths across Jaskier's skin, and trailing kisses down his neck. Under the water, Jaskier's cock twitched and pulsed in Geralt's hand, spilling out all the tension and exhaustion he had.

He slumped in Geralt's arms. “Mmm, thank you.”

“You deserve it.”

They stayed in the spring until near dinner time, Jaskier in Geralt's lap, just enjoying the closeness and tender touches. The conversation with Eskel was far from his mind, but Jaskier knew he'd made his point. Whether Eskel trusted him—as a person—was still up in the air, but he at least trusted Jaskier not to hurt the other wolves. That was enough.

~

Dinner that evening was a subdued affair. Lambert came into the hall shortly after Jaskier and Geralt got there, and sat at his usual spot. But tonight, there was a different sort of aura around him... not quite calm, but not as tightly wound as usual. Jaskier smiled to himself. It looked like he did some good after all.

After they all ate their fill and Eskel tried convincing the others to play cards, Lambert peered over at Jaskier with a small smile. “Geralt claims you're a bard.”

Jaskier's stomach dropped. Oh no, not this again.

But Lambert was still smiling. “I haven't heard you play yet.”

“Oh, well, I know you all dislike how... inaccurate, my songs are. I didn't want to annoy. I play up in the bedroom most days, so I don't bother anyone.”

Lambert nodded. “Well, go fetch your instrument, play us some music while we take Eskel's gold.”

Eskel scowled, but nodded in agreement. “Music might be nice. Not the coin song.” The others grunted in agreement.

“Yes, not that one.” Even Vesemir added his opinion.

“I'd be delighted.” Jaskier left the hall and ran up to their room, fetching his lute from the top of the dresser. He hadn't practiced as much as usual, what with the hot spring and the fresh ingredients he got from Vesemir to add to his soaps, and Geralt being more insatiable than usual... well, he'd fallen behind. It was fine, just a little light music after dinner, not a banquet at court.

He returned to the hall, lute in hand and sat on top of the table in front of Geralt—Jaskier always liked to sit on a slightly higher surface when he played to help him better see the audience, and it gave Geralt a lovely view of his ass, win-win. He started strumming, tuning the strings a bit until he found the right sound. When he launched into the first song, Geralt hummed along for a moment before kissing Jaskier's shoulder and going to play cards at another table. Jaskier had a good view of the game and threw in encouragement between songs. Even Vesemir seemed to enjoy watching the others play, his foot tapping along with the older songs Jaskier knew.

After a few rounds, Eskel threw up his hands. “Fuck this. Let's play something else.”

“You always say that when you're losing.” Geralt chuckled and got an elbow in the ribs for it.

“If you're taking a break, might I play a new song for you all?” Jaskier had no idea where the sudden bravery came from. Some invisible force grabbed at his throat, forcing his words. Yes, he had a new song, but he was no where near ready to display it... especially here. “I mean, it's not quite audience ready, so maybe not...”

But four sets of yellow eyes turned to him. It was Vesemir who nodded, lifting his glass to Jaskier. “Play on, bard. Play on.”

Jaskier swallowed around the lump in his throat and tried to remember how to sing. He plucked out the first few notes and took a deep breath.

_Up in the mountain high,_

_There's a castle that touches the sky,_

_Standing in the valley low,_

_That's the place I want to go_

_The trip is long, a difficult climb,_

_Well worth the treasure I find inside,_

_A pack of wolves, all sublime,_

_The castle here their greatest pride_

_These halls they are cold,_

_But my heart do they hold,_

_For one season a year, one season a year_

_The Old Wolf Vesemir, he does grin,_

_For there's nothing new you can tell him,_

_His many tales will make your head spin,_

_As long as you keep his cup filled to the brim_

_Lambert will probably cut your throat,_

_But oh he's quick with a joke,_

_With biting words, does he dote,_

_Strong and young, he'll fall under no King's yoke_

_These halls they are cold,_

_But my heart do they hold,_

_For one season a year, one season a year_

_These halls they are cold,_

_But my heart do they hold,_

_For one season a year, one season a year_

_Dear Eskel's smarter than a whip's crack,_

_And though he's never quick to attack,_

_He'll cast a spell, faster than the eye sees,_

_For him, magic's naught but a breeze_

_The White Wolf Geralt is dearest to me,_

_Strong and wild, he'll never fall,_

_But on this, we can agree,_

_I'll take each wolf, I love them all_

_These halls they are cold,_

_But my heart do they hold,_

_For one season a year, one season a year_

_These halls they are cold,_

_But my heart do they hold,_

_For one season a year, one season a year._

Jaskier finished his last strum and looked up at his audience of wolves. They all stared back at him, faces unreadable. “It's not for... I'll only play it here. I wrote it for Kaer Morhen. Just Kaer Morhen.”

Without a word, Geralt stood up, walking over to Jaskier, one arm outstretched. A broad thumb wiped away the tear rolling down Jaskier's cheek, and only then did he feel himself crying. Well, there went his goal not to cry in front of everyone. But no one said a mocking word, they were all too busy staring at him, unsure of what to say. “I think they like it,” Geralt whispered into Jaskier's hair.

“Good. Good.” He wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks. “I'm glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, "undress to your comfort level" is a John Mulaney reference. As soon as I thought of it, I had to leave it in.
> 
> I know my song isn't as good as any from the show, the rhymes are simple and I couldn't stick to a good cadence, but I hope everyone enjoyed reading it, I'm very proud of it :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier's jaw and neck, coming to rest over his heart. “You really are too good to me. None of us deserve you.” Behind him, Eskel gave a grunt of agreement.
> 
> Golden eyes flicked away from him, boring into Eskel. “Do you want him, or me?”
> 
> “Yes,” Eskel growled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter. It's what I was writing when Plague 2020 was released and in the first few days of isolation and not knowing what to do, I continued to write until it became too long, then I decided to break it into two chapters. Sorry if the pacing seems a little off.
> 
> All mistakes are mine, please let me know if you find one. Enjoy!

Sitting in Geralt's lap in the hot spring, Jaskier ran his fingers through his winter beard. It was finally long enough for him to get a good grip on. Not that he pulled or tugged, but it was nicer to have long, silky smooth hair sliding through his fingers. And Geralt enjoyed the attention as well, obviously.

They were deep into winter now and Jaskier had bathed Lambert a few more times, watching the tension bleed out of the young Witcher a little more each session. And at the end, without fail, he gathered Jaskier to him and kissed him deeply. Always under Geralt's watchful eye, never going any further. Jaskier didn't know if he wanted it to go further, only that he was happy to help Lambert through whatever emotional toil Witchers were not equipped to handle alone.

Eskel softened a bit too, allowing Jaskier to soap his hair from time to time. He still watched like a hawk whenever Jaskier was near Geralt, but now he understood that he'd never hurt Geralt, so his gaze was more... well, Jaskier didn't know how to describe it. They found balance, at any rate, and all passed a pleasing winter together.

The three younger wolves went out on a hunt this morning after their sparring, bringing back fresh meat for the first time in weeks, and they all deserved a good rest. Jaskier meant to see to them in turn—rub Lambert's shoulders, wash Eskel's hair, if he'd let him—but he started with Geralt. It wasn't much, Jaskier just sat in his lap, petting his hair and beard, but the attention was important. They all needed to feel loved and Geralt was his first priority.

The water across the pool rippled as Eskel emerged from his usual corner and floated over to them. Geralt opened one half-dozing eye. “Finally decided to do something about it?”

Jaskier didn't have a chance to ask before Eskel pressed up behind him, hard cock poking Jaskier in the back. He almost jumped in surprise, but Geralt's gaze held him steady. He trailed a soothing hand down Jaskier's cheek before shifting his attention to Eskel. An arched eyebrow was all it took.

Eskel wrapped his arms around Jaskier, pressing his chest against the bard's back, his chin settling on top of Jaskier's shoulder, lips right next to his ear. “Did he tell you about us?” he whispered.

Jaskier nodded. “He loves you, I'm well aware.”

Brand new lips kissed across the top of Jaskier's shoulders. “Good. And this...” under the water, his hand moved passed Jaskier, coming to rest on Geralt's thigh, “are you alright with this?”

Jaskier looked deep into Geralt's eyes. He didn't need to ask for an answer, he already knew. “If Geralt wants it.”

“Thank you.” Eskel kissed his shoulders again. “I've missed you in my bed this winter,” he whispered into Jaskier's skin, but these words were clearly not for him.

“I know,” Geralt said.

“Eskel.” Lambert stood up from his spot in the opposite corner of the pool. “Do you want me to take the bard?”

“No, he can stay,” Eskel said. “I... want him to stay.”

Pressed between Geralt and Eskel—two mighty gods of the hunt pinning him in place—Jaskier shivered despite the warm water. He had no idea what they suddenly had planned for him, but he was most interested to find out.

“How much did he tell you about us?” Eskel mumbled between kisses across Jaskier's back and shoulders. “These past few winters, he remained deeply loyal to you for so long. But as soon as the snow made riding impossible, he'd scratch and claw at the walls, eventually crawling into my bed.” He paused, smiling into Jaskier's shoulder. “Sometimes, I broke early and it was me scratching at his bedroom door.”

“And I always let you in.”

The soft words whispered into his skin weren't news, not really. Geralt wasn't a fucking monk, Jaskier had no assumptions about what they each got up to when they were apart, especially in winter. Sure, he hadn't taken another lover since the first moment Geralt said he had _feelings_ for Jaskier (not counting whatever was going on with Lambert) but cooped up in this castle all winter... Of course the wolves found solace in each other, why wouldn't they? Jaskier wasn't enough of a bastard to want to deny Geralt love in any form.

He tried to speak, tell them he didn't care, he was glad Geralt had company all those long winters—but Geralt silenced him with a look. He trailed his fingers down Jaskier's jaw and neck, coming to rest over his heart. “You really are too good to me. None of us deserve you.” Behind him, Eskel gave a grunt of agreement.

Golden eyes flicked away from him, boring into Eskel. “Do you want him, or me?”

“Yes,” Eskel growled.

Pressed tight to Jaskier's back, Eskel wrapped one hand around the bard's chest, holding him as close as possible, while the other managed to wrap around Geralt and Jaskier's cocks. With a roll of his hips, Eskel thrust against Jaskier's back, pushing him forward into the hand circling them. His head fell back into the curve of Eskel's neck. It was already too much.

“If you...” Jaskier panted. “Eskel, if you want Geralt, you don't need to—include me. It's fine—”

A nip to the side of his neck halted his words and a warm tongue laved at the rising love bite. “You deserve him as much as I do,” Eskel whispered. “I see that now.” Hips pushed again, sending a wave across the top of the water and a jolt of pleasure through Jaskier. “Don't get in your own way, bard, try to enjoy it.”

Another thrust and pull on his cock made Jaskier moan. “Yes, yes. Whatever you say.”

Eskel thrust a few more times, Geralt trailing his fingers up and down Jaskier's chest, keeping him grounded. “Not in the pool,” Geralt finally said. “I want to see you both.”

Eskel bit down on Jaskier's neck. “Fine.” The hand disappeared from Jaskier's cock and he almost whined at the loss. Eskel nipped his ear. “Shush, it's only for a moment.”

He pulled them back a little, giving Geralt room to climb out of the pool and spread a few bath sheets across the stone floor for Jaskier's comfort—the Witchers didn't need it, they'd fucked on worse than hard stone. Geralt lay on his back and beckoned them up. Everything was moving so fast, Jaskier's brain couldn't keep up and Eskel had to lift him out of the water, placing him on Geralt's chest. Strong hands tugged on his hips until Jaskier got the message and placed his knees on either side of Geralt's hips. Sure, his legs shook, but at least he was able to support his own weight.

The heat of Eskel's body settled behind him and Geralt held him close. For a long moment, no one moved. Geralt brushed his fingers across Jaskier's jaw. “Is this alright? We can stop.”

“No! No, don't stop. I don't want it to stop.” Chest heaving, most of him shaking, and Jaskier had never been more turned on. “ _Please_.”

Geralt peered over his shoulder and nodded to Eskel. “Get the green bottle, he likes that one the best.”

Eskel retreated from Jaskier's peripheral vision and returned with a bottle of oil in hand, one of _his_ oils. But Jaskier was so out of it, his brain so saturated with pleasure, he had no earthly clue which one Geralt sent him to grab.

Eskel uncorked the bottle and the scent of roses filled the steamy air of the hot spring. If possible, Jaskier melted even more. Geralt smiled and stroked his hair, fingers catching on his ear and following the curve of it down his neck. “You don't use the rose much, but I know you like it.”

“It smells too... too feminine. I get looks,” Jaskier managed to huff out. Breathing was still difficult right now, especially with Geralt staring into his eyes and Eskel pressed against his back, placing kisses and small love bites everywhere he went.

“Not here,” Eskel said. “Not with us.”

Two large, blunt fingers, slick with oil, pressed against Jaskier's hole and he gasped. Though the hand they belonged to was new, he knew this feeling well, it wasn't a surprise... but oh, it was so intense. Jaskier hadn't had two partners in a long time, and now he had two Witchers, two mountains of men wrapped around him, set on driving him to madness. Every touch sparked like magic against his skin, sending his cock leaking all over Geralt's stomach.

When Eskel's fingers disappeared and the head of his cock replaced them, Geralt chose that moment to wrap his hand around Jaskier and himself, stroking slowly at first until Eskel bottomed out, then picking up the pace.

“S-slow down,” Jaskier managed not to whimper. “I don't want it to end...” They'd barely started and already, he felt on a hair trigger. The right thrust from Eskel threatened to obliterate Jaskier's stamina, and he didn't want it to end, he never wanted them to stop touching him.

Geralt's strokes slowed a little, but Eskel kept up the pace. “If you think Geralt and I aren't going to fuck you again this winter, you are sadly mistaken.” He kissed the side of Jaskier's neck, right on top of one of the love bites already starting to bruise. “Come on, little lark,” Eskel growled, snapping his hips harder, “sing for me.”

Jaskier let out a keening moan, his body shaking. He hadn't come yet, but sparks of pleasure blossomed from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes, he felt it all over, every brush from Geralt or Eskel sparking hotter, brighter. He pushed back to meet Eskel's thrusts and came with a shout, his voice echoing through the wet cave.

When his arms couldn't hold him anymore, he collapsed on top of Geralt, face sliding into his fragrant neck. Eskel started to pull out and Jaskier's hand flailed back, trying to hold him in place. “No, I want it. Keep going, please.” Though he shook with exhaustion and his skin was more than over sensitive, Jaskier needed Eskel to keep going, he wanted to feel that glorious cock spill inside him. Nothing else would satisfy.

Eskel glanced at Geralt and got a nod. “Give it to him,” he whispered, still petting Jaskier's hair, soothing him through the lingering tremors of pleasure.

“Mmm,” Eskel hummed and started thrusting again, a little erratic and unfocused this time. “Don't worry, it won't take long.” He pressed his forehead between Jaskier's shoulder blades. “Your ass is too sweet.”

“Isn't it, though?” Geralt muttered in reply.

A moment later, Eskel grunted, pressing his hips flush to Jaskier's ass as he came. He gripped so hard, he was sure to leave bruises, but from the moans Jaskier gave him, he didn't seem to mind.

When Eskel's orgasm finally ebbed away and his cock softened, he pulled out and watched a small drop of his own come drip from Jaskier, making its way down the inside of his thigh. “Fuck,” he whispered.

“I know, he's impossible to resist.” With Jaskier completely blissed out on top of him, Geralt took hold of the bard and rolled them onto their sides to give him a rest.

Eskel spooned up behind Jaskier and brushed a hand across Geralt's hip. “How about you?”

“On me,” Jaskier whispered. His face was still pressed into Geralt's neck, breathing in the calming, familiar smells, coming down from the fantastic orgasm, and the delicious feeling of satisfying yet another Witcher.

Geralt licked Jaskier's ear and started stroking himself. “Whatever you want.”

After watching Eskel fuck Jaskier _on top_ of him, Geralt did not take long at all. He pressed the tip of his cock to Jaskier's stomach when he came, painting the bard's chest white. Sure, most of it ended up on the bath sheet below them, but it was the effort Jaskier appreciated.

Half asleep and absolutely covered in Witcher come as he was—literally dripping with it—Jaskier smiled. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “Thank you for letting me share him.”

Eskel snorted. “I fuck you senseless and you thank me for sharing Geralt? Ha!” He chuckled again. “What a strange little lark you are.”

“The strangest,” Jaskier agreed.

Geralt gathered him up and returned them to the spring, cleaning the mess of oil and come from Jaskier's skin. Eskel stayed on the bench next to them, no longer isolated in the corner. They didn't touch much, just the occasional brush of fingers, but the closeness was enough. Even Lambert came over to join, laying himself out on the edge of the pool behind them, close enough to snatch a kiss from Jaskier whenever either of them pleased.

In an uncharacteristic fit of bravery, Jaskier cupped his hand around Eskel's jaw and turned his head, bringing those jagged scars front and center. “What are you—” Eskel started to pull away but Jaskier pressed lightly against his jaw, halting his retreat.

Slowly, deliberately, Jaskier kissed up and down each scar. He kissed until Eskel stopped squirming and accepted the touch. Planting one last kiss on Eskel's lips, he pulled away. “Will you let me take care of you now?” Jaskier whispered.

Eskel nodded, leaning into Jaskier's touch. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Finally, Jaskier let himself fully relax, half-dozing against Geralt's chest, Eskel right next to them, and Lambert nearby. Part of him wasn't looking forward to the exhaustion of caring for three men who didn't know their own emotions for shit, but moments like this made the effort worth it. It was shaping up to be a lovely winter.

~

There was a definite change in the castle. Vesemir said nothing about it, at first. Not when Eskel and Lambert both crowded together at the dinner table with Geralt and Jaskier—the human sandwiched between them—and not when Jaskier sat on Geralt's lap, hand playing with Lambert's hair while they took Eskel's money. He said nothing for about a week.

Then, one night at dinner, Geralt got up to get more wine from the cellar. Jaskier, half sitting on Geralt, half on Eskel, easily moved onto the other Witcher's lap, their eating uninterrupted. Finally, Vesemir had had enough.

He banged his cup down on the table, calling all their attention, and pointed an irritated finger at Jaskier. “Don't start this if you're not going to finish it. If you don't come back next winter, they will be hell to live with.” The sharp edge to his voice was new, something Jaskier had never heard before, but the way the others reacted—tensing, going still—this had to be the voice of Master Witcher Vesemir, the one who trained and disciplined them.

Jaskier went to move off Eskel's lap, but a firm hand held him still. “He knows,” Eskel said.

Vesemir shook his head, eyes trained on Jaskier, but they softened a little. “I want to hear it from him. Humans who love Witchers do not live happy lives, and now you've collected three. He needs to understand the risks, or you _all_ might lose him.”

 _If you don't come back next winter_ , as in... Ah. Jaskier felt the gravity of Vesemir's warning now. Not that he might leave Geralt—any fool could see Jaskier was going absolutely no where—but that, through no fault of his own, he might not come back. There were so many words he wanted to say to reassure Vesemir, to show him he was not a fragile guardian of these fragile hearts, but he wouldn't dare invoke feelings they all pretended not to have in front of everyone like this. Maybe next time he and Vesemir were alone in the greenhouse... for now, he had one piece of tangible proof to show his resolve.

Jaskier climbed to his feet, Eskel's arm lingering around his hips for a second before allowing him to move away. He untucked his tunic and undershirt, lifting the fabric to expose the same scar he'd shown Eskel. “I'm aware of the risk. And I don't care.” _And I will die protecting them_ , went unsaid.

Geralt came up behind him and ran a warm hand over the thin scar. He remembered that hunt and hated those men to this day. It was only Jaskier's blood and crying eyes that made him stop short of killing them where they stood, then marching to the Lord's estate and killing him as well.

Vesemir looked at the scar and nodded, attention returning to his food. “Sing for us later?” he grumbled, the usual ancient calm returning to his voice.

Jaskier smiled. “Of course.”

Jaskier retrieved his lute from the bedroom and sat in Geralt's lap as he played, Lambert's fingers dancing up and down his spine. Vesemir said nothing about it.

~

For all of Geralt's complaints of Kaer Morhen's freezing halls, Jaskier was toasty warm for the rest of winter. There was not a single moment he didn't have one Witcher or another, with their inhuman body heat, attached to his side. Late at night—after the drinking and playing were finished—or early in the morning—before the sparring started—Lambert or Eskel slid into bed next to Jaskier and Geralt, warming every bone in his body.

He wasn't sure if they coordinated, but they never came in at the same time. In the early mornings, before he and Geralt left to train, Eskel spooned up behind Jaskier, crowding him closer to Geralt. With the human between them, they'd take turns kissing and touching, driving Jaskier mad, all the while sparing a few glances and kisses for each other. When Jaskier was truly fucked out, only then did Eskel lunge at Geralt, taking them both in hand, their lips pressed together in a searing, growling kiss.

Eskel and Geralt grew a little more comfortable with their love for each other, though they'd never describe it like that. _Jaskier_ would, and he definitely encouraged them until they didn't spare a single thought to fucking in front of him, or near him, at least. In the hot spring, Jaskier liked rubbing Geralt's shoulders while Eskel sat between his legs, thick cock in his mouth. Or while curled in Lambert's lap, he watched Eskel fuck Geralt over one of the benches while he lazily scratched at Lambert's scalp, drawing purrs and groans of satisfaction from the youngest Witcher.

Some evenings, Lambert pushed up behind Jaskier. With a tired sigh and a roll of his eyes, Geralt released Jaskier from his hold so the bard's arms were free to comfort Lambert. There was more romance in the way Jaskier touched Lambert than carnal love, Geralt enjoyed watching it. The way he ran his hands down Lambert's throat, making him pant and whine, hips thrusting as he touched himself, it was mesmerizing. To think, Jaskier's hands had the power to wring a truly shattering climax from Lambert with a few nearly-chaste touches. Geralt had no problem sharing Jaskier's love with his brothers, but Lambert didn't seem to want Jaskier's body the same way he did, not at first. No matter what happened when he visited their bed, Jaskier finished the night by petting his hair, whispering soothing words into his ear, making Lambert tremble.

The first time Lambert asked to fuck Jaskier—really asked, not simply a crude joke—they did it in Lambert's bed while Geralt watched, seated in a chair by the door. Even with the fire roaring next to the bed, Lambert covered them in warm furs, making sweat bead and roll down Jaskier's neck and chest. Lambert chased each drop with his tongue, inhaling deeply, memorizing the smell of Jaskier's pleasure.

“All my life,” Lambert whispered. “Whether I die tomorrow or in a thousand years, no one will ever be as good as you.”

Jaskier came so hard, tears rolled down his cheeks. Lambert licked those away too.

The more they all touched each other without making a joke of it or pulling away in old habit, the better Jaskier felt about his mortal life. He guarded the hearts of Kaer Morhen at the moment, but he wouldn't live forever, teaching them how to properly love each other was part of his new long term goal, and so far, it was working out beautifully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the lore I've read says Geralt and Eskel have a deep connection. I choose to interpret that as love <3


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At dinner one night, the others were extra attentive. They were always attentive, but tonight really took the cake—filling Jaskier's glass when it was barely half empty, giving him the last bit of bread, rubbing his shoulders at the table, feeding him from their plates... it was getting excessive. “I'm fine,” he sighed when he'd had enough of their coddling. “It's fine to be sad. It's one of those emotions you lot pretend not to have.”
> 
> Lambert sat down in front of Jaskier, taking his chin in his hand and locking their eyes together. “We have a few weeks. Don't be sad yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who read, commented and enjoyed. I really loved writing this fic in these strange times. And! I'm happy to say, it's bloomed into something of a series. I don't know how long yet, but there will be more stories attached to this one.
> 
> My apologies if the beginning is a little odd, I wanted to include a nice scene with Vesemir and couldn't really find a good spot until now, so it's kind of told in flash back, sorry if the time skip is weird for anyone. As usual, all mistakes are my fault, let me know about a typo and I'll fix it. Everyone please enjoy :)

When the snow began to thin and spring was only a few weeks away, a sadness started spreading in Jaskier's heart. By far, this had been the best winter of his life, he would definitely be back next year, there was no question, but three whole seasons without his wolves... it made him sad, he had no trouble admitting it.

But Jaskier's sadness wasn't allowed, apparently, if Geralt's behavior was anything to go by. He stayed close to Jaskier for days, kissing him the way he liked, touching him the way that made him beg for more. He didn't say anything about it, of course not, but Geralt seemed determined to lift Jaskier's mood.

When Geralt's attempts to cheer him up became too much, Jaskier retreated to Vesemir's greenhouse. It was a small little hot house, but there was enough room for Jaskier to sit and think, smelling the earthy fragrances of the kitchen herbs and spices.

He remembered the first time he saw the greenhouse, a beautiful patch of life in the middle of the snowy courtyard, it brought tears to his eyes. Vesemir grunted at him as he trimmed a few sprigs for the kitchen. “Don't weep here, bard, I may not laugh at you, but the others will.”

“My apologies.” Jaskier patted his face dry. “There's just so much here... it's such a tiny space, I can't imagine how you got all this to grow!”

“Patience, and a lot of time.”

“When you have the time, this is as good a use as any.” Jaskier turned in a slow circle, taking it all in.

One long planter held rows of vegetables, and another was filled with flowers. Honeysuckle, white myrtle, verbena, mousetail orchid. “I expected medicinal plants, or some of the more rare potion ingredients, not beautiful flowers,” he said almost absently, still turning and taking it all in. Off to one side, an orange tree! Oranges! Sure, they looked small, but the peels were the important ingredient. A little zest of orange peel went a long way for scenting soaps and balms.

“The truly useful plants are in the laboratory—” Vesemir stopped pruning for a second and straightened up, staring Jaskier down. “You are never to go there, no matter what. The chemical smell alone will kill you.”

“I won't,” Jaskier promised.

Vesemir grunted and went back to his herb collecting. “Good.” Staring at his plants, his voice dropped, but Jaskier still heard him, “They'd never forgive me if you met your end there.”

Jaskier laughed softly, trying to brush off the tender words, not for his comfort, but for the old Witcher's. “Geralt, certainly, I don't know about the others.”

“Oh no, they like you too. They'll never say it—it's not in their nature—but they enjoy your presence very much. I've seen Geralt and Eskel spend all winter distancing themselves from Lambert and a guest, or Lambert and Eskel beating each other bloody over a small fight. That hasn't happened this winter. In fact, it's hard to remember a more peaceful season.” Vesemir said nothing more as Jaskier picked his jaw up off the ground.

Once he recovered, he moved around the green house, collecting a few ingredients he needed. Before he touched a plant, he looked at Vesemir, and only took a clipping when the old Witcher nodded. He tried to contain his excitement so as not to disturb Vesemir in his garden, but a small cry snuck between his lips when his eyes landed on the last planting box. “Vanilla!” he whispered. “You have vanilla! Of all the glorious, amazing—” Jaskier paused and looked at Vesemir, vanilla was expensive, maybe he didn't want to part with even the smallest bean... But he waved a hand, urging Jaskier onward.

“I'm glad you like it,” Vesemir said. “Take what you need. The castle hasn't smelled this good in a long time, and I thank you for that.”

He made several trips to the greenhouse that winter, sometimes he found Vesemir there, sometimes he didn't. They both learned to move around each other in the small space, going about their individual business with no need to speak. Sometimes, Jaskier heard Vesemir humming an old tune, then one day, he heard Vesemir humming _his_ song.

Jaskier said nothing, just smiled to himself and packed away his ingredients. His bag filled with oranges, rosemary, grass clippings, vanilla and more, he turned to leave.

“I like that song,” Vesemir said.

Jaskier's hand froze on the greenhouse door. “You do?”

“Mmm. What's it called?”

Jaskier faltered for the moment. He'd mulled over a few titles, but nothing seemed to fit. “Right now? In my notes, it's The Ballad of Kaer Morhen.”

“Hmm,” Vesemir grunted. “Write it out for me,” he said after a long silence. “I'll place a copy in the library. No one will read it, but we should have a copy.”

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes and Jaskier tried to keep his composure. “Yes. I'll take care of it tonight.”

“In your own time.” Vesemir turned away from him, giving his attention to a row of flowers and Jaskier took that as his dismissal.

Jaskier took his time producing a copy and it was another week before he presented it to Vesemir. He wrote it out on the finest piece of parchment he had—which wasn't much, frankly, better than wood pulp paper at least—using his special blue ink. It was the ink he used for love letters back when he sent them to numerous partners, and it seemed fitting, this song was a love letter to Kaer Morhen, why shouldn't he treat it as such?

Vesemir regarded the parchment and nodded. “Thank you.”

Vesemir was a man of few words, they all were in their own ways, but Jaskier always heard the sentiment under them. Long after he'd gone, Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert would remember him, and long after they were all dust, Kaer Morhen would still hold a piece of Jaskier's mind and heart.

Jaskier didn't get down to the greenhouse as much as he liked, but even a moment sitting among the green and the colorful flowers made him feel better. When his sadness became too deep, it lifted him, and he returned to his Witchers, ready to lift their spirits as well.

~

At dinner one night, the others were extra attentive. They were always attentive, but tonight really took the cake—filling Jaskier's glass when it was barely half empty, giving him the last bit of bread, rubbing his shoulders at the table, feeding him from their plates... it was getting excessive. “I'm fine,” he sighed when he'd had enough of their coddling. “It's fine to be sad. It's one of those emotions you lot pretend not to have.”

He leaned back into Geralt and felt Eskel's fingers brush him as well. Lambert wasn't having any of it and sat down in front of Jaskier, taking his chin in his hand and locking their eyes together. “We have a few weeks. Don't be sad yet.”

Jaskier smiled despite himself. How could anyone argue with that logic? “Alright.” He kissed Lambert's palm and settled back into Geralt's arms. “I'll try to keep my spirits up. But when you all start leaving, I will be a crying mess, don't you dare try to stop me.”

“Mmm, wouldn't dream of it.” Geralt inhaled deeply, smelling Jaskier's hair, they'd had a bath earlier and the bard smelled of honey and beeswax. His hand dipped down between Jaskier's legs, thumb rubbing across the laces of his breeches. “Are you too full?” he asked.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jaskier's eyes searched the hall. “Fuck, Geralt, not in front of—”

“Vesemir left an hour ago.” Teeth sunk into Jaskier's neck, sucking a soft bruise into the skin. He squeezed Jaskier's cock through his clothing. “We haven't fucked in here yet. Do you want to?” He turned Jaskier's head towards the bear skin rug in front of the large fire. “I've thought about taking you on that rug all year.”

“A-all of us?” Jaskier's voice trembled.

Geralt shook his head. “Just you and me. They can watch.”

Lambert grinned “Yes we will,” he said, which earned him a kick from Eskel.

“Is that alright?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier rolled the thought over in his head. It would be stupid to say no. It's not like they hadn't been doing exactly the same most of the winter. Only... in the hot spring, the water hid most from prying eyes, and in their bed, darkness helped maintain a slim veil of privacy, if one could call wanking off Lambert while Geralt snored next to them _private_. (Jaskier supposed it was a very liberal definition of the word.) But here in the hall, he was fully exposed. The large fire threw light to all corners, no one could hide. For the first time, the men who'd seen every inch of his body would see _every_ inch of his body, all at the same time. It was different, and Jaskier definitely paused to think.

Yellow eyes watched him, not to menace or cajole, just to watch and wait patiently for Jaskier's answer. Over Geralt's shoulder, another pair of yellow eyes watched him, and no doubt a third set belonging to Lambert focused on him as well, all of them waiting. The sharp distrust had long melted from those eyes, and only soft gold peered out at him, patient and loving. What kind of fool would say no to all that?

Threading his fingers through Geralt's, he nodded. “Yes. They can watch.”

“Thank you.”

Geralt picked him up like a bride and carried him over to the large bear skin rug. So close to the fire, the fur was warm and soft and Jaskier cooed, stretching out. Why hadn't they done this before? “Wait until you feel it on your skin,” Geralt said and started removing Jaskier's clothes.

He took his time, none of them in a rush. While Jaskier expected them to play cards or dice after dinner like usual, he quickly realized that he was the entertainment for tonight. And well, wasn't _that_ a feeling. Eskel and Lambert sat at the table closest to the fire, hungry eyes watching avidly as Geralt stripped him one piece of clothing at a time.

Starting with Jaskier's boots, he kissed each foot as soon as it appeared, rubbing his nose up the top of Jaskier's foot, up over his calf until he reached the hem of his breeches. His teeth grabbed the edge of Jaskier's warm winter stockings and rolled them down, eyes flashing up at him as he did it. Jaskier was still fully clothed, only his feet bare and it was already too much. “Fuck.” He slumped his head on the rug. “This is going to take all night.”

“That's the plan,” Geralt said.

The second a new patch of skin came into view, Geralt covered it in kisses, paying extra attention to the scars on Jaskier's hip and the back of his thigh. It was the first time Eskel and Lambert fully saw the physical proof of Jaskier's devotion and both craned their necks to get a better look. Geralt turned Jaskier over, deftly manipulating his relaxed body to show off his scars. They weren't as numerous as any of the Witchers', but they held the same weight, at least, they did in this castle.

Once Jaskier was totally naked in front of them all, Geralt ran his hands down his chest, over his hips, stopping just shy of Jaskier's already aching cock. “Lambert, did you bring his bag down?” He set Jaskier's ingredient bag next to Geralt and he reached inside, producing an oil and one of the jars Jaskier used for balms. The oil was obvious, but the balm...

“We're going to take care of you,” Geralt said. _Like you take care of us_ , went unsaid, but Jaskier heard the words. He closed his eyes and let Geralt tend to him, well aware Eskel and Lambert were sat not two feet away, watching.

Geralt rubbed the smooth balm over his skin, the smell of almond and vanilla bright in the warm air. This one was too intense for Witcher senses, so Jaskier only used it on himself. The fact that they endeavored to put up with the smell to make Jaskier happy made him love them all the more.

Geralt tended to Jaskier's feet first, dry and cracked from the winter air despite his best efforts. “Ooo,” he moaned. “Fuck, hands... strong hands...” Delicious fingers pushed into his arches with just the right amount of pressure, making him moan and his cock leak. Why hadn't he asked Geralt for a foot massage before? So much time wasted.

Geralt rubbed the smooth balm over Jaskier's knees and elbows until he was soft all over. Once he found and soothed all Jaskier's dry skin, he urged the bard to roll over. It wasn't hard, right now, Geralt could probably convince Jaskier to walk off the mountain if he really wanted to, he was putty in his hands. More balm spread across his back, followed by a quick massage. “Mmm,” Jaskier moaned into the soft rug. Now he understood why Lambert was so desperate for his touch, if he was half as good as Geralt, he didn't know how any of them let him stop touching them.

Geralt's hands vanished for a moment and there was a rustle of clothing. When he returned, hot skin pressed against his and Jaskier tried to roll over, grabbing as much of Geralt as he could reach. Geralt chuckled. “Patience. Not much longer.”

Placing Jaskier on his back again, he reached for the oil. He barely pressed two slick fingers inside before Jaskier started groaning. “I'm ready. I've been the castle horse all winter, just fuck me.”

Lambert stifled a laugh and Eskel choked on his wine. Geralt just shook his head. “Fuck, when you say these things...” He didn't finish, he was about to show Jaskier exactly what his filthy words did to him.

Geralt kneeled on the rug between Jaskier's legs, half pulling him into his lap. The second that thick cock brushed his hole, Jaskier wrapped his legs around Geralt and pulled them together. “Impatient,” Geralt growled.

“You promised to take care of me tonight. So take care of me.”

Seeing no reason not to give Jaskier what he wanted, Geralt thrust forward, pulling out almost all the way before pushing in again, drawing out each sensation as long as possible. Geralt fucked Jaskier until he was almost senseless, and while they said they were only going to watch, Eskel and Lambert kept offering _advice_ from the sidelines.

“Kiss his neck, he likes that...”

“Geralt, roll him over, I want to see his ass.”

Despite the chatter and being very much on display, Jaskier had never felt more loved. Instead of feeling stared at, the gentle magic of the Witchers and their castle swirled around him, protecting him. The whole of the Nilfgaardian army could storm the dining hall right now, and Jaskier knew his wolves would stop every man before the reached him. To be so loved... it was a heady drug. Jaskier was going to miss it.

Lambert broke first. As soon as Geralt pulled away, his seed leaking onto the rug, Lambert blanketed himself over Jaskier, kissing hungrily. His finger brushed against Jaskier's hole. “Can I?”

Jaskier's cock gave a twitch and he nodded. “Yes. Slow.”

Half way through watching Lambert strip and push inside Jaskier, Eskel sighed and opened the laces of his breeches, taking himself in hand. “So much for watching.”

Lambert pressed his face against Jaskier's neck, pulling them flush together as his hips snapped. Jaskier trailed his hands up his back, cock hard again. “Yes,” he whispered. “Are you going to take care of me too?”

“Always,” Lambert whispered back.

Lambert came with a groan, filling Jaskier with even more sticky come, then collapsed on top of the bard. Jaskier held him close, stroking his hair. “Eskel?” he asked, his voice rough from their exertions. “Did you finish?” _Or do you need more_? Even when they tried to take care of him, Jaskier had to make sure they were all satisfied.

Eskel chuckled and waved a sticky hand in his direction. “I'm good, bard, thanks for the show.”

“It's not over yet.” Geralt grabbed Eskel's hand and lapped at the come coating his fingers before those hungry eyes settled on Jaskier.

Lambert managed to roll off, leaving Geralt room to pounce. He settled between Jaskier's spread legs once again and licked every drop of come from his stomach, before eyeing his ass. “Oh no, seriously?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt flashed his wolf smile and bent between Jaskier's legs, lapping at the spend he found there. Jaskier bucked and moaned, squeezing his legs around Geralt's head. When he came a third time, Geralt licked that up too. Jaskier had never felt so clean and so dirty at the same time.

More fucked out than he'd ever been, Geralt carried him up to bed. Lambert joined them shortly after, slipping between the sheets to nuzzle Jaskier's neck. And just as Lambert left, Eskel arrived, doing the same to him and Geralt. Dazed and euphoric, Jaskier only half remembered when they left the bed, but the memories of their eyes on him while Geralt thrust inside him filled Jaskier's dreams for weeks to come.

~

It was probably a little presumptuous of him, but Jaskier started making special soaps and balms for the others. He hadn't mentioned it to Geralt, yet, he intended them to be sort of parting gifts. Jaskier wouldn't be back until next winter, and working with his hands helped keep the sadness at bay, it gave him a project to focus on, along with the idea of leaving each man with something to remember him by. It was soppy, and very much not a _witcherly_ thing to do, but it was a very Jaskier thing. He'd be gone from this life far before any of them, and he didn't think it too outlandish to hope they remembered him.

Lambert was the easy one to figure out, he loved Jaskier's orange scented soaps, so he made one with coconut oil, orange peel and honey. The light, warm fragrance reminded Jaskier of the summer and the coast, and hopefully Lambert liked it.

Eskel smelled like a tingle of magic, Jaskier couldn't describe it any better, it was the same sort of smell that hung around Triss and Yennefer, only much softer. He had a few fresh grass clippings from Vesemir's greenhouse and a vial of lilac oil. Both complimented the scent that surrounded Eskel, so Jaskier went with that.

Vesemir spent the whole winter cooking for them, and there was only one smell Jaskier felt was appropriate—he made him a rosemary soap with oatmeal for texture. While he doubted any one in this castle knew what an exfoliant was, Vesemir's skin needed it more than the others. He was up in these mountains all year, the dry wind had to be murder on his skin.

Lambert left first.

He crept into their room after midnight and right away, Jaskier knew this was different. With a warm nose pressed into his neck, he grabbed Lambert's shoulders, holding him tight. “You better not be gone when I wake up,” he said.

Lambert kissed his shoulder. “I'm leaving at first light. Wanted to tell you two not to die before next winter.”

Shaking the sleep from his limbs, Jaskier climbed out of bed and stumbled over to his ingredient bag, finding Lambert's gift. “I made this for you. To think of me until next winter.”

He didn't need to unwrap the brown paper to know what it was, the light smell of oranges, honey and a hint of coconut floating up at him. “Thank you,” was all he said. Jaskier didn't expect much more. Just because Witchers knew they had feelings didn't mean they were going to express them.

Jaskier climbed back into bed with tears in his eyes, and Geralt pulled him close. “Lambert is the most restless. He always returns to The Path first. We'll see him again.”

Eskel announced his departure at breakfast a few days later. Fully dressed in his armor, he walked into the dining hall and immediately caught Geralt's eye. Geralt rose from his seat and embraced Eskel, pressing their foreheads together, sharing their breath. “Don't die,” he whispered.

“Or you,” Eskel answered.

And just like that, they stepped apart. Tears were starting to well in Jaskier's eyes and it took him a moment to realize this was it, until next winter at least. “Wait! I have something!” Running out of the hall as fast as his legs would carry him, Jaskier retrieved Eskel's soap from their room and ran back.

When he returned, his chest heaved with the effort of running up and down the stairs, but the two remaining Witchers stared at him, stony faces unchanged in front of Jaskier's half-panic. “Here,” he panted, offering the wrapped bar of soap. Eskel took it and sniffed it. “Lilac and grass clippings,” Jaskier said. Embarrassment flooded him at handing over such... an unmasculine scent and he started to babble. “You smell like magic. I can't explain it, it's like rain on a metal roof. Grass and lilac seems to compliment it so...”

Eskel flashed a quick smile, his scars twisting a little over his cheek. “It makes sense to me. Thank you... Jaskier.”

Before Eskel could pull away, Jaskier looped an arm around his neck. Up on his tip toes, he just managed to reach Eskel's scars. It took all winter, but he finally managed to wear down Eskel's defenses and he no longer flinched when Jaskier kissed his scarred face. Pressing kisses up and down the jagged lines, a few tears fell onto the arm of Eskel's armor. He said nothing about it. “Come back for him,” he whispered in Eskel's ear. “He needs you as much as he needs me.”

“I will try.” Jaskier kissed the scars one last time and pulled away, that promise was good enough.

Eskel left the hall and Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier as they both listened to the front doors open... then swing shut a moment later. “We should leave tomorrow. I don't wait long after Eskel departs.”

“That's fine.” Jaskier was eager to leave now that the others had gone. This castle without Lambert and Eskel suddenly felt more empty than ever. “We'll say goodbye to Vesemir, right?”

“Right.”

Vesemir didn't speak when Jaskier handed him the rosemary soap that evening. He sniffed it, considering the smell. After a long, tense moment, he glared up at Jaskier. “Am I a kitchen wench to you?”

“No! No, of course not!” Panic and mortification oozed through his stomach. “You took care of us all winter, you cooked, I thought—”

A soft chuckle rumbled from Vesemir's chest, growing louder and louder until it was a full belly laugh. Jaskier's shoulders unclenched. “You're fucking with me, aren't you?”

“The others got to, why shouldn't I?” Vesemir joked. At the table behind him, Geralt choked on his wine, a few drips spilling out his nose. Soft eyes, far more ancient than Jaskier could imagine, regarded him. “Thank you for brightening our keep this winter. Here's to the next.”

They left the next morning. The trip down the mountain was freezing, but not as cold as Jaskier remembered. Possibly because of the extra layers Lambert insisted he wear. “It's an old gambeson, take it, I don't care, just don't fucking freeze.” That was two days before Lambert left. Jaskier pushed his nose into the old fabric, smelling sweat and a little hint of Lambert, spicy and sharp as ever. He wasn't sad, not like he'd been the past few days. Jaskier knew he'd see them again and he started hoping for the future instead of longing for the past. It helped.

It was odd, sleeping with only Geralt pushed up behind him, but Jaskier got used to it again. He didn't know how long until the world pulled them in different directions again and he was determined to enjoy his last remaining Witcher as long as possible.

They got down into the valley and started to feel the spring. The fresh breeze and warmer air seemed to wake Jaskier up from his winter dream, and for the first time since they left Kaer Morhen, he took out his lute and started to strum.

Geralt smiled and they rode along like that for some time. Slowly, the chill of winter fell away from their bones and they lapsed into familiar patterns—walking, talking, playing, grunting—all of it so strange, yet so familiar.

“You never told me the full story,” Geralt said after a few miles. He enjoyed silence more than most, but a silent Jaskier was never good, not for too long, anyways.

“Hmm?” Jaskier looked up at Geralt, his foot almost catching on a root in his inattention. Back to normal, then.

“The bath house at Oxenfurt. You said you and the lady grew quite _close_ , then you blushed.” Geralt flashed his wolf smile. “You don't blush for much, Jaskier. Tell me the story.”

“It's not really a story.” Jaskier shrugged, fingers plucking at his lute a little. “We got along well is all, we were surprisingly similar. She thought she was destined for more than the life of a whore. I felt the same, very deeply so. I knew Destiny had more for me and I started seeking it out.” A small smile curved across Jaskier's lips. “And well, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

They walked in silence for a moment or two before Jaskier just had to break it. “She also fucked me blind for a whole semester. That woman taught me so many things...” A misty glow settled across Jaskier's face for a second before he shook out of it. “She's the reason I'm so good at sucking your cock, you're welcome, by the way.”

“Hmm.” Geralt looked down at Jaskier and smirked. “Maybe we should take a trip to Oxenfurt so I can thank her?”

Jaskier laughed. “You want to go to a bathhouse in Oxenfurt?”

“Yes I do.”

“Well then.” Jaskier started strumming a little faster, playing a jaunty riding tune. “To Oxenfurt!”

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I started reading the books, so my Geralt is kind of a combination of Netflix Geralt, and book Geralt.
> 
> I did a lot of research about soap making and the like, but after so many mommy blogs, I realized the exact process wasn't essential to *the plot.* Jaskier is a talented man and knows how to make soap, I think we can all go with this. I am also assuming any ingredient that existed on Earth in the vaguely medieval era, exists in this world. Take this leap with me, everyone, it'll be so much easier when Jaskier mentions coconut oil.
> 
> The slow build tag is kind of a lie. There is a lot of sex in this, a lot, the plot is more the slow builder, I think...


End file.
